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SECOND  SERIES 
/-.#£    WHITEFRIARS  LIBRARY 


OF   WIT  AND  HUMOUR 


EDITED  BY  W.  H.  DAVENPORT  ADAMS 


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NUMBER   TWENTY 


FABLES     AND     FANTASIES 


BY 

H.    D.    TRAILL 


LONDON : 
HENRY   AND   CO.,   BOUVERIE   STREET,   E.G. 


SShttrfriars  i^tirarg  at  SSit 
anb 


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[Shortly. 


NOTE. 


r  I  ^HE  story  which  gives  the  title  to  this  volume  was 
-^        written  specially  for  it. 

Of  the  prose  pieces  which  follow,  two,  "The  Protecto- 
rate of  Porcolongu"  and  "The  Great  Baxtairs  Scandal," 
originally  appeared  in  Macmittaifs  Magazine ;  a  third, 
"  The  Brutes  on  Their  Master,"  in  the  Nineteenth  Century ; 
and  the  last,  "  The  Armourer  of  the  Twentieth  Legion," 
in  the  Universal  Review.  The  detached  pieces  of  verse 
were  contributed,  two  of  them  to  the  Saturday  Review,  and 
the  two  others  to  the  Daily  Telegraph.  It  was  in  the  pages 
of  Punch  that  the  Baby  was  first  allowed  to  record  its  poetic 
protest  against  the  teachings  of  the  Nurse. 

The  Author  takes  this  opportunity  of  thanking  the  pro- 
prietors of  these  periodicals  for  the  permission  to  reprint. 

H.  D.  T. 


CONTENTS. 


NUMBER  TWENTY  :— 

• 

PROLOGUE          .           . I 

THE   FIRST  AGE                     14 

THE   SECOND  AGE 23 

THE   THIRD  AGE 39 

THE   FOURTH   AGE 60 

THE   FIFTH  AGE 73 

THE   SIXTH   AGE 83 

THE   SEVENTH   AGE 96 

A  FABLE  FOR  JUDGES 107 

THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU  .  .  .  .  in 
THE  PROGRESS  OF  HUMANITY  .  ..  .  .  .141 

THE  BRUTES  ON  THEIR  MASTER 145 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  VISION 161 

THE  GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL  .  .  .  ;  .166 
THE  PASSING  OF  THE  AGED  PSYCHOPATH  .  .  .189 
THE  ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION  .  .192 


NUMBER    TWENTY. 


PROLOGUE. 

IT  was  exactly  half-past  eleven  p.m.  on  the  3ist  of 
December,  1900,  and  Old  Seekleham  lay  a-dying. 
Obviously  he  had  no  more  than  half  an  hour  at  the  outside 
to  live,  yet  so  tough  was  his  vitality  that  no  one  doubted 
but  that  he  would  manage  to  hold  out  that  length  of  time. 
His  end  could  not  be  described  as  unexpected.  On  the 
contrary,  it  had  been  foretold  by  the  almanac  makers  for 
many  years,  and  its  precise  date  had  even  been  fixed  by 
them  with  an  accuracy  in  which  too  many  of  their  other 
predictions  were  wanting. 

Old  Seekleham  himself  was  fully  prepared  for  his  de- 
parture, not  to  say  disposed  to  welcome  it.  It  was  not  that 
he  had  attained  to  a  greater  age  than  his  ancestors,  who,  in 
fact,  had  all  been  centenarians  like  himself;  it  was  that  his 
life,  as  measured  by  exciting  and  consequently  fatiguing 
experiences,  had  already  far  exceeded  most  of  theirs.  He 
had  lived  very  hard  in  many  ways.  His  early  youth  had 
been  of  a  singularly  stormy  kind.  He  was  the  most  pug- 
nacious of  boys — a  fighter  such  as  never  before  was  seen ; 

IV.  L.-XV. 


2  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

and,  indeed,  he  had  enriched  his  record  with  one  of  the 
most  desperate  "  mills "  in  all  history  before  completing 
his  fifteenth  year. 

After  reaching  middle  age,  he  had  entered  upon  a  most 
successful  career  as  a  trader ;  and  during  the  last  third  of 
his  life  his  achievements  as  an  explorer,  an  inventor,  and 
a  scientific  investigator  had  been  of  the  most  brilliant 
order.  But  of  late  years  he  had  been  suffering  severely 
from  the  malady  known  as  "  ha.ving-had-enough-of-it." 

He  grumbled  at  the  magnitude  of  the  wealth  he  had 
acquired  by  trade ;  he  grumbled  at  the  extent  of  territory 
he  had  opened  up  to  commerce ;  he  grumbled  at  the  result 
of  his  inventions  and  the  fruits  of  his  scientific  inquiries. 
In  his  desponding  moods,  which  became  more  and  more 
frequent  in  his  closing  years,  he  would  declare  that  he  was 
far  happier  before  he  had  made  so  much  money,  or  had 
pushed  his  business  to  such  an  extent  that  its  incessant  calls 
on  his  attention  left  him  with  scarce  a  moment  to  himself. 
His  inventive  skill  he  got  at  last  to  hold  in  the  lightest 
possible  esteem ;  while  of  his  science  he  was  wont  to  remark, 
with  what  he  intended  for  irony,  that  it  had  revealed  to  him 
almost  everything  except  what  he  most  wanted  to  discover, 
and  what  alone  he  cared  to  know.  To  that  he  was  no 
nearer,  he  would  add  with  bitterness,  than  the  most  remote 
of  his  ancestors. 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  Old  Seekleham  was  not  sorry  to 
be  going. 


The   hands   of  the   World   Clock   in   the   Vestibule  of 
Eternity,  where  lay  the  couch  of  the  Moribund,  pointed  to 


PROLOGUE.  3 

thirty-four  minutes  past  eleven.  A  shadow  fell  across  his 
bed,  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 

A  tall,  spare  figure  stood  before  him — the  figure  of  an  old, 
old  man,  of  a  man  many  times  as  old  as  Seekleham  himself, 
white  bearded,  deeply  wrinkled,  and  bald  save  for  a  single 
lock  of  hair  depending  from  his  forehead.  He  leaned  upon 
a  scythe,  and  carried  a  wallet  at  his  back.  An  hour-glass 
was  in  his  left  hand. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  voice  full  and  resonant, 
and  yet  which  seemed  to  bring  with  it  an  echo  from  afar. 

"  Not — that — pleasure,"  faintly  murmured  Seekleham,  who 
during  the  last  fifty  years  of  his  life  had  been  a  model  of 
refined  politeness.  "  In  the — the  gardening  line,  I  presume 
from  your  implement.  Given  up  the  mowing  machine,  ap- 

* 

parently.  ...  Is  that — another  instance — of  my — my  mis- 
directed ingenuity — in  the  matter  of  inventions  ?  " 

The  aged  visitor  returned  no  answer,  but  placed  his  hour- 
glass on  the  ground,  and  proceeded  to  disburden  himself  of 
the  wallet. 

"  Houndsditch  ?  "  whispered  Seekleham,  more  to  himself 
than  the  other.  "  But,  no  !  "  he  added,  as  his  eye  fell  on 
the  hour-glass,  "  a  travelling  pedlar  more  likely,  with  the  last 
new  thing  in  egg-boilers." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  know  me  not  ?  "  said  the  grey- 
beard, solemnly.  "  I  am  TIMI;  !  " 

Seekleham  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments  with  an 
amused  smile. 

"  Time  !  "  he  echoed.     "  You,  Time  ?    Nonsense  ! " 

"  Nonsense  ?  "  exclaimed  his  scandalised  visitor. 

"  Excuse  me.  The  ejaculation  was  rude,  and  I  apologise. 
But  really,  really  to  hear  an  independent,  a  self-existent 


4  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

entity  like  yourself — for  you  claim  independence  and  self- 
existence,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Rather !  "  replied  the  other  complacently,  "  and  a  re- 
spectable antiquity,  too :  an  existence  of  which  '  the  memory 
of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary.' " 

"  Exactly  ! "  resumed  Seekleham,  his  smile  now  giving 
place  to  a  positive  chuckle.  "That's  just  it.  It  is  all  a 
matter  of  the  '  memory  of  man '  and  nothing  else.  It  was 
the  memory  of  man,  or  in  other  words  the  continuity  of  man's 
mental  impressions,  which  brought  Time  into  being,  and 
without  it  Time  would  cease  to  be.  In  point  of  fact,  you 
would  be  it — if  you  were  Time :  but  you  must  surely  be 
aware  that  Time  is  merely  a  form  of  the  subjective  con- 
sciousness." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  was  the  ironical  reply.  "Then  I  suppose 
you  can  '  gain '  or  '  lose  '  a  form  of  the  subjective  conscious- 
ness, or  '  save '  or  '  waste '  it,  or  '  work  against '  it,  or  be 
'  tied  to  '  it,  or  '  come  up  to  '  it.  Or,  perhaps  "  (with  in- 
creasing contempt),  "  you  can  take  a  form  of  the  subjective 
consciousness  by  the  forelock." 

"  Mere  figures  of  speech,"  said  Seekleham,  "  mere  con- 
veniences of  language.  Nothing  but  man's  incurable  trick 
of  personification.  Why,  Kant,  before  I  was  born — 

"  Yes,  and  cant  till  the  day  of  your  death,  apparently," 
interrupted  Time,  with  an  impatience  which  bordered  on 
the  discourteous.  "  Now,  look  here,  if  you  imagine  that  I 
am  worth  so  little  that  I  can  afford  to  waste  myself  in 
chopping  metaphysics  with  an  expiring  century  that  has 
only  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  more  to  live,  you  were 
never  more  mistaken  in  all  your  hundred  years  of  life.  I 
have  other  fish  to  fry." 


PROLOGUE. 


S 


And,  with  that,  he  rose,  and  having  tied  his  wallet,  mouth 
open,  to  one  of  the  brass  knobs  of  the  bed-foot,  began  to  look 
round  the  chamber  with  an  inquiring  air. 

Seekleham  eyed  him  curiously,  and  then  cast  a  glance  at 
the  bag.  It  was  branded  in  large  black  letters  running  all 
along  it  like  the  name  on  a  farmer's  flour  sack. 


"  Here!  hi!  hallo  !  "  exclaimed  the  Moribund  abruptly,  as 
he  saw  Time  removing  two  busts  from  the  brackets  on 
which  they  stood.  "  What  are  you  doing  with  those  ?  Are 
you  aware  that  they  are  effigies  of  two  of  my  most  dis- 
tinguished statesmen  ?  " 


6  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Quite  aware,"  replied  Time,  coolly.  "  But  I  know  what 
I  am  about ;  thank  you  for  your  kind  interest  in  my 
work." 

"  Know  what  you  are  about !  Yes,  but  do  you  ?  Let  me 
tell  you  that  I  have  preserved  those  two  busts  with  the 
utmost  reverence  for  a  considerable  part  of  my  long  life, 
and  I  should  advise  you  to " 

"Seekleham,"  said  Time  brusquely,  "in  the  course  of 
the  long  life  you  seem  so  fond  of  talking  about,  you  must 
have  heard  many  proverbs — have  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes.     Well?" 

"  Well,"  resumed  Time,  with  a  blander  air,  "did  you  ever 
come  across  a  proverb  about  grandmothers — and  eggs — and 
the  way  to  suck  them — and  the  proper  persons  to  give 
instruction  in  the  art  of — but,  there  !  I  see  you  have.  Your 
eye  is  full  of  intelligence.  Well,  in  this  case,  for  '  grand- 
mother '  read  '  grandfather  to  the  power  of  n,'  and  observe 
the  directions  of  the  adage." 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  chucked  the  two  distinguished 
statesmen  unceremoniously  into  the  wallet. 

"  Come,"  he  continued,  with  a  hasty  glance  at  the  hour- 
glass, "  I  have  not  many  minutes  to  spare.  Where  are  your 
poets,  artists,  men  of  letters,  men  of  science  ?  Point  'em 
out !  point  'em  out !  " 

His  manner  was  so  imperious  as  to  abash  all  resistance. 
Seekleham  could  only  mutter  "  Poets  ?  "  and  point  with  a 
feeble  finger  at  a  line  of  busts  on  a  shelf  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  with  one  powerful  and  stately  head  overshadow- 
ing the  rest. 

Many  of  them  Time  swept  into  his  sack  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  A  few  he  did  not  touch  at  all,  One 


PROLOGUE.  7 

or  two  he  took  up,  and  after  scrutinising  them  for  a  few 
moments  with  a  doubtful  air,  replaced  them  on  the  shelf. 

"  I  will  give  them  a  little  longer,"  he  muttered.  "  I  can 
always  look  in  again,  if  necessary,  in  a  few  years'  time." 

Seekleham  watched  the  operation  in  silence,  until  at  last, 
seeing  one  particular  statuette  snatched  roughly  up  with 
evident  destination  to  the  wallet,  he  could  contain  himself 
no  longer. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He,  too  !  One  of  my 
most  popular  poets  !  " 

"  Smooth,  isn't  he  ?  "  said  Time,  with  an  ugly  grin,  as  he 
passed  a  contemptuously  caressing  hand  over  its  polished 
surface.  "  But  look  at  him,"  he  continued,  holding  up  the 
bust  between  his  finger  and  thumb;  "why,  if  I  were  to 
handle  him  much  longer,  there  would  be  nothing  left  of  him.' 

And  indeed,  the  popular  poet  already  seemed  to  shrink 
and  dwindle  beneath  the  touch  of  Time,  who,  after  spinning 
the  statuette  in  the  air  as  a  boy  spins  a  penny,  flung  it 
scornfully  among  the  other  alms  for  Oblivion.  Then,  to  the 
utter  amazement  of  Old  Seekleham,  he  lifted  from  its  shelf 
the  stateliest  bust  of  all. 

"You — you  are  not  going  to — you  cannot  mean  to — 
to "  stammered  the  expiring  Century,  his  eye  travel- 
ling with  painful  agitation  from  Time  to  the  wallet  and  back 
again.  The  other,  without  noticing  his  disorder,  stepped 
briskly  with  the  bust  to  the  open  door  of  the  Chamber. 

Seekleham  breathed  again.  "  I  see,  "  he  muttered,  "  I 
understand.  A  promotion." 

"Of  course,"  answered  Time,  returning  empty-handed. 
"  You  must  have  expected  that,  I  think.     I  have  transferred 
your  poet  from  the  Ante-chamber  to  the  Hall  of  Eternity,  as 


8  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

one  whose  place  among  the  Immortals  is  assured.  But  let 
me  tell  you,  sir,  that  it  is  the  only  promotion  of  the  kind 
that  I  am  in  a  position  to  make  among  any  of  your  living 
children,  and,  indeed,  the  only  one  I  have  ever  made  since 
the  batch  of  candidates  I  took  it  upon  me  to  pass  when  you 
were  still  hardly  out  of  your  teens.  All  the  others  who 
have  escaped  the  wallet  for  the  present  will  have  to  wait  here 
awhile  yet  before  they  can  reckon  on  escaping  it  altogether. 
Yes,  all  of  them,  even  he"  pointing  to  a  rugged,  shock- 
headed,  Scotch-looking  bust  that  glowered  at  him  from  the 
rank ;  " and  he"  indicating  another — this  also  a  massive- 
browed,  yet,  curiously  enough,  somewhat  simian  head — that 
stood  beside  it. 

"What!"  gasped  Seekleham,  "even  my  most  famous 
man  of  science  ?  Even  Dar " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Time,  "  I  have  said  so.  Even  that  distin- 
guished 'scientist.'  Don't  you  wish,"  he  added,  bending 
lower  over  the  bed,  "  don't  you  wish  you  had  expired 
before  they  disgraced  your  record  by  the  invention  of  that 
word?" 

The  other  moaned  feebly. 

"They  have  put  many  such  indignities  upon  me  in  my 
closing  years,"  he  murmured. 

A  short  silence  ensued.  The  sands  in  the  hour-glass  were 
fast  running  out ;  the  hands  of  the  clock  marked  ten  minutes 
to  midnight.  Time,  softly  humming  to  himself  M.  Jean 
Richepin's  cheerful  lyric,  "  Encore  un  sihle  qui  decline"  con- 
tinued to  sweep  the  remnant  of  the  literary,  artistic,  and 
other  celebrities  into  his  wallet. 

It  was  with  as  much  pleasure  as,  in  his  rapidly  sink- 
ing condition,  he  was  capable  of  feeling,  that  Seekleham 


PROLOGUE.  9 

observed  his  visitor's  respectful  treatment  of  the  favourites  of 
his  earliest  infancy.  Two  poets  who,  he  well  remembered, 
had  welcomed  his  birth  with  enthusiasm,  were  carefully 
bestowed  by  Time  in  the  Hall  of  Eternity  in  company  with 
the  illustrious  singer  of  his  later  days.  In  the  profound 
cynicism  that  had  grown  upon  him  in  the  closing  years  of 
his  life  he  had  fancied  himself  indifferent  to  their  fate  ; 
but  even  at  that  moment  he  felt  a  stir  in  his  failing  heart 
at  the  recollection  of  the  glory  and  the  freshness  of  their 
cradle  song ;  and  he  hailed  their  escape  from  the  wallet  ot 
Oblivion  with  a  sigh  of  genuine  relief. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  was  without  serious  concern, 
it  was  with  unfeigned  amazement  that  he  watched  the  havoc 
which  Time  was  making  elsewhere.  Figures  which  from  his 
earliest  days  he  had  seen  his  children  regard  with  awe  and 
admiration  were  chucked,  with  scarcely  so  much  as  a  glance 
at  them,  in  the  gaping  mouth  of  the  sack.  Some  of  them 
Seekleham  himself,  in  his  representative  capacity,  had  not 
rated  very  highly,  and  had  indeed  looked  upon  as  mere  idols 
of  a  passing  fashion  among  his  sons.  But  for  others  he  had 
personally  entertained,  at  one  or  another  period  of  his  life, 
a  respect  which,  though  no  longer  perhaps  so  high  as  it 
once  had  been,  he  had  not  altogether  outgrown  ;  and  it  was 
with  a  feeling  of  almost  bewilderment  that  he  saw  them 
thus  unceremoniously  treated. 

It  was  one  thing  to  doubt  their  claim  to  the  niche  and 
pedestal,  and  another  to  see  them  summarily  banished  to 
the  dust  heap. 

But  the  Grand  Old  Dustman  went  steadily,  and  methodi- 
cally, and  mercilessly  through  them  all — statesmen,  lawyers, 
savants,  poets,  philosophers,  critics,  historians,  novelists, 


io  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

playwrights,  painters,  sculptors,  architects,  inventors,  actors, 
singers,  preachers,  pill-makers  :  he  spared  none.  His  biggest 
hauls  were  made  from  the  ranks  of  the  politicians,  the 
preachers,  and  the  pill-makers ;  then  came  the  men  of 
letters,  then  the  painters  and  actors,  in  the  order  named. 
It  was  among  the  singers,  practitioners  of  the  art  in  which 
imposture  is  the  most  difficult,  that  he  obtained  the  fewest  * 
recruits  for  his  wallet.  But  on  the  whole  it  was  a  monstrous 
"  catch,"  and  Seekleham's  wonder  grew  as  he  watched  its 
progress. 

Nor  was  he  much  less  astonished  at  the  promotions  than 
at  the  degradations  of  which  he  was  a  witness.  Many  a 
small  and  humble  effigy,  lurking  unnoticed  in  some  obscure 
corner,  was  taken  up  by  Time,  and  after  a  careful  and  re- 
spectful dusting  established  on  a  shelf  in  the  place  vacated 
by  some  one  or  other  of  the  condemned  busts — often,  too, 
in  a  higher  position  than  some  of  those  which  had  been 
allowed  to  remain.  But  Seekleham's  amazement  did  not 
reach  its  highest  pitch  till  he  saw  Time  produce  some  half- 
dozen  or  so  of  entirely  new  effigies  from  under  his  single 
scanty  garment,  and  place  them  on  the  shelves  beside  the 
others.  .  It  was  not  the  feat  itself  which  surprised  the 
Moribund,  for  he  had  seen  conjurers  produce  fish-bowls 
from  beneath  a  silk  handkerchief;  and  as  he  had  often 
heard  of  the  "  magic  of  Time,"  there  seemed  nothing  very 
wonderful  in  his  being  able  to  perform  a  similar  trick.  But 
what  did  astonish  him  was  the  effigies  themselves,  which 
were  absolutely  unknown  to  him.  Even  in  the  last  few 
minutes  of  his  existence  the  flame  of  curiosity  flickered  up 
for  a  moment,  and  this,  together  with  his  inveterate  habit 
of  politeness,  compelled  an  effort  to  speak. 


PROLOGUE.  1 1 

Pointing  with  a  trembling  finger  at  the  strange  effigies  : 
"  Introduce  me  !  "  he  muttered  to  his  companion. 

With  a  glibness  born  of  manifest  familiarity,  Time  ran 
through  their  names. 

"  Never — heard  of — the — gentlemen,"  murmured  Seekle- 
ham  feebly,  sinking  back  again  on  his  pillow. 

"  No,  I  am  quite  aware  of  that,"  said  the  other  coolly. 
"  Your  successor,  however,  and  your  successor's  successor 
will  hear  a  good  deal  of  them.  But  you  have  only  another 
few  minutes  left  now,  and  you  must  prepare  to  bid  your 
final  adieu  to  those  who  have  the  best  right  to  be  present 
at  your  departure." 

Seekleham  was  past  speaking.  His  lips  could  only  frame 
the  noiseless  interrogatory — "  Who  ?  " 

"  Who ! "  said  Time.     "  Why,  the  Decadents,  of  course." 

There  was  no'  speculation  in  Seekleham's  eyes.  It  did 
not  seem  quite  certain  whether  or  not  he  knew  who  the 
Decadents  were.  But  when  the  door  of  the  Vestibule  was 
flung  open,  and  they  stalked  slowly  in,  a  melancholy  train, 
a  faint  glance  of  recognition,  though  not  of  welcome,  stole 
over  his  features. 

They  sat  down  at  his  bedside,  and  one  after  another  they 
began  to  sing.  Their  songs  were  in  praise  of  exhaustion, 
and  disillusion,  and  failure,  and  emptiness,  and  weariness, 
and  the  vain  regrets  of  yesterday,  and  the  lying  promises  of 
to-morrow,  and  the  unspeakable  monotony  of  to-day. 

One  of  them  took  up  the  subject  of  exhaustion,  and 
recited  a  sombre  poem  in  which  a  Mongolian  necromancer, 
by  name  Ah  Sin,  predicts  the  decay  of  Caucasian  civilisa- 
tion. A  second  sang  of  disillusion,  of  things  which  are 
not  as  they  seem,  and  of  the  visions  which  were  about  him, 


12  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

A  third  had  chosen  the  snows  of  the  previous  winter 
for  his  theme,  and  pointed  out  how  gratifying  it  was  to 
reflect  that  when  once  melted  they  were  irrecoverably  lost. 
A  fourth  had  composed  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  for  the 
inestimable  blessing  of  the  sensation  that  to-day  is  exactly 
like  yesterday,  and  for  the  exquisitely  restful  thought  that 
to-morrow  will  be  indistinguishable  from  to-day.  This 
hymn  he  called  a  Tadium  Vitce,  and  he  recited  it  with 
considerable  unction,  and  with  as  much  feeling  as  he  was 
capable  of  showing. 

After  this  they  all  joined  in  the  strophic  and  antistrophic 
recitation  of  an  Ode  to  the  Spirit  of  Decadence,  which 
meant,  as  was  explained  in  the  Ode,  the  Spirit  begotten  of 
the  fact  of  living  in  an  age  of  exhaustion  and  disillusion, 
and  failure,  and  emptiness,  and  weariness,  and  getting  rather 
to  like  it.  And  they  wound  up  with  a  chorus  of  congratu- 
lation to  Seekleham  on  the  strength  of  his  rapidly  approach- 
ing departure,  since,  although  Decadence  was  nice,  Death 
was  still  better,  and  they  sped  him  with  envy  on  his 
journey. 

Old  Seekleham,  however,  had  not  waited  for  their  per- 
mission to  depart.  Indeed,  at  the  very  first  notes  of  the 
first  Decadent's  song  his  face  assumed  a  look  not  merely  of 
resignation  to,  but  of  impatience  for,  his  end ;  and  some 
two  or  three  "  numbers "  before  the  valedictory  Ode  it 
would  have  been  plain  to  any  one  but  a  poet  or  singer, 
actively  engaged  in  the  practice  of  his  egotistic  profession, 
that  Old  Seekleham  was  in  articulo  mortis. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  World  Clock  struck  twelve  while 
the  third  Decadent  was  poetically  explaining  his  discovery 
of  the  deliquescence  of  snow. 


PROLOGUE.  13 

By  the  time  the  chorus  was  concluded,  Old  Seekleham 
had,  in  a  sense  more  than  usually  emphatic,  passed  away. 
He  had  disappeared,  couch  and  all,  and  on  the  spot  which 
the  couch  had  occupied  there  now  stood  a  cradle  containing 
a  baby  with  a  singularly  aged  face. 


I. 

THE  FIRST  AGE. 

"  At  first,  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms." 

YES,  there  was  no  denying  it.  Little  Vicesimus  ^Eon  was 
almost  as  old-looking  as  the  departed  Seekleham. 
His  wide-open  eyes  had  as  meditative  and  as  wearied  a  look 
as  though  they  were  gazing  out  of  the  head  of  a  septua- 
genarian. The  upward  curl  of  his  button  nose  seemed  an 
indication  rather  of  cynicism  than  immaturity;  the  expression 
of  his  shapeless  mouth  was  one  of  profound  melancholy. 

Time  eyed  the  elderly  infant  with  a  grim  smile,  and  rocked 
its  cradle  gently  with  the  handle  of  his  scythe. 

"Are  you  conscious  of  yourself  yet,  Vicesimus  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  But  imperfectly,"  answered  the  child,  with  a  slight  sigh. 
"  But  what  age  has  ever  fully  realised  its  own  ethos  until  it 
was  drawing  to  a  close  ?  I  suppose  I  shall  require  a  poet  to 
interpret  me  to  myself." 

"  H'm  ! "  said  Time,  dryly,  "  that  is  rather  a  pity.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  have  to  wait  some  time.  Old  Seekleham  got 
himself  explained  that  way,  but  not  till  his  life  was  more 
than  half  over.  And  after  that,  so  many  people  went  into 
the  interpreting  business  that  he  got  tired  of  them.  At  any 
rate,  he  paid  very  little  attention  to  a  good  many  of  rhem  in 
his  later  years. 


THE  FIRST  AGE.  15 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  said  Vicesimus,  carelessly,  "  I  can  wait. 
And,  indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  care  about  a  poetic  inter- 
pretation of  myself.  I  should  be  satisfied  with  the  scientific 
exegesis." 

"  You  portentous  little  prig,"  muttered  Time  to  his 
snowy  beard,  "  you  are  realising  yourself  at  this  moment,  in 
that  hideous  jargon  of  yours,  if  you  only  knew  it.  Look 
here,  Vicesimus,"  he  continued,  aloud,  "you  can  get  the 
interpretation  you  want,  and  easily  enough,  by  watching  the 
ways  of  your  own  children." 

"  Of  my  own  children?  "  said  the  babe,  passing  his  hand 
musingly  over  his  tired  young  eyes,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
understand  you." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  don't,"  said  his  aged  companion. 
"  Indeed  it  is  impossible  that  you  should.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  really  very  simple.  Babe  as  you  are,  you  are  the  spiritual 
father  of " 

"  Stop  !  I  only  admit  the  word  spiritual  provisionally, 
understand.  I  am  not  certain  that  it  has  any  meaning. 
But  continue." 

"  You  are  the  spiritual  father  of  every  babe  that  has  been 
born  into  the  world  since  you  appeared.  You  inspire  them, 
all  unconsciously  to  yourself.  They  are  now  what  you  have 
made  them  :  what  they  will  become  will  be  what  you  shall 
make  them  hereafter.  You  can  realise  yourself  in  your 
babyhood  of  to-day  by  simply  selecting  a  typical  baby  and 
watching  its  ways.  In  boyhood,  in  youth,  in  manhood,  in 
old  age,  you  will  always  be  able  to  find  your  own  interpreta- 
tion by  seeking  out  the  typical  boy,  youth,  man,  or  what  not." 

"  That,"  said  Vicesimus,  reflectively,  "  will  be  extremely 
interesting.  Produce  a  typical  baby." 


i6  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

"  I  will  do  so  presently,"  said  Time.  "  Or,  rather,  I  will 
take  you  to  see  one.  But  you  are  in  a  little  too  much  of  a 
hurry.  Allow  me,  at  the  risk  of  boring  you,  to  explain  the 
situation  to  you  with  a  little  more  precision.  You  are 
aware,  I  suppose,  that  you  are  my  child  ?  " 

Vicesimus  looked  up  at  the  greybeard  with  a  pitying 
smile. 

"  How  true  it  is,"  he  murmured  half  to  himself,  "  that 
man  never  knows  how  anthropomorphic  he  is.  You 
mean,"  he  continued,  aloud,  "  that  I  am  probably  being 
spoken  of  as  the  latest  birth  of  Time.  It  is,  of  course,  one 
of  those  mere  figures  of  speech  with  which  men  delude 
themselves,  but  it  ought  not  to  have  taken  you  in.  However, 
continue  ;  let  us  assume  for  the  purposes  of  your  argument 
that  I  am,  as  you  say,  your  child." 

"  The  spirit,"  proceeded  the  other,  in  a  more  solemn  tone, 
"the  spirit  which  you  yourself  are  breathing  into  your 
children  is  itself  an  emanation  from  me.  It  is  the  Zeitgeist 
in  you  which But  you  smile  !  What  at  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing.  Only  that  word  of  yours,  the  Zeit- 
geist. A  little  old-fashioned,  you  know.  But  go  on." 

"  It  is  the  Zeitgeist  animating  you"  continued  Time  in 
a  sterner  voice,  "  which  is  the  moulding  and  shaping,  the 
quickening  and  impelling,  principle  in  your  children.  But 
do  not  on  that  account  suppose  yourself  to  have  absolute 
control  over  them,  or  even  over  yourself.  If  it  is  your 
spirit — my  spirit — which  moves  them  to  action,  it  is  no  less 
true  that  that  action  in  its  turn  reacts  upon  the  motive  power 
— to  restrain  it,  to  modify  it,  to  deflect  it,  nay,  sometimes 
even  to  reverse  it.  Your  children,  the  children  of  the 
Twentieth  Century,  will  have  many  thoughts,  many  feelings 


THE  FIRST  AGE.  17 

which  they  will  owe  to  you,  their  spiritual  father ;  but  the 
Time  Spirit  in  you  will  itself  be  conscious  of  some  new  im- 
pulses, some  fresh  stirrings,  which  will  have  been  communi- 
cated to  it  by  them.  Sometimes  the  interaction  will  be  so 
subtle  that  many  will  find  it  hard  to  say  whether  it  be  the 
Time  Spirit  which  is  moulding  the  thoughts  and  wills  of  men, 
or  whether  it  be  men  themselves,  who  by  dint  of  speech  and 
action  are  generating  around  them  a  new  atmosphere,  and 
within  them  a  new  inspiration  of  Thought  and  Will.  But 
one  thing  I  can  tell  you,  that  you  and  they  together,  Man  and 
the  Time  Spirit,  will  undergo  many  metamorphic  changes, 
and  that  the  series  of  these  transmutations  will  soon  com- 
mence. Or,  in  other  words,"  he  added,  sotto  vocet  "  that  you 
will  soon  become  something  better  than  the  odious  little 
pedant-in-swaddling-clothes  that  you  are  now.  " 

"  Amid  much,"  said  Vicesimus,  u  that  I  know  to  be  mis- 
leading metaphor,  and  more  that  I  suspect  to  be  unsound 
psychology,  I  am  still  able  to  say  that  I  fairly  comprehend 
your  meaning.  Lead  on  to  the  typical  baby." 

"  I  will  take  you  to  see  one,"  said  Time,  lifting  Vicesimus 
out  of  his  cradle  and  limping  off  with  him.  "  It  is  the 
simpler  plan  of  the  two." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  I  could  walk  if  I  tried, "  said  Vicesimus, 
somewhat  hurt  at  the  indignity. 

"The  typical  baby  cannot,"  replied  Time  ;  "  at  least,  not 
at  present.  When  it  is  a  few  days  old  it  may  be  able  to 
do  so,  but  thus  far  it  more  or  less  resembles  babies  of  an 
earlier  period,  so  far  as  its  physical  powers  are  concerned.  It 
is  the  maturity  of  its  intellectual  faculties  which  is  the  most 
striking  of  its  characteristics.  It  is  that,  I  think,  which  will 
be  most  gratifying  to  you  as  a  father." 
/r.  L.—XV. 


1 8  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  I  shall  study  it  with  much  interest,"  replied  Vicesimus  ; 
"  but  I  can  promise  you  no  more." 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  nursery  to  which  Time  had 
been  conveying  his  latest  born.  It  was  a  large  and  some- 
what bare  room,  neatly  decorated  with  geometrical  figures 
and  anatomical  and  other  diagrams.  In  a  cradle  in  its 
midst  reposed  a  baby  of  a  few  hours  old,  with  a  look  of 
intense  philosophical  curiosity  on  its  expressive  countenance, 
and  an  air  of  half  melancholy,  half  cynical  Pyrrhonism  in  its 
speaking  eye.  A  young  woman  who,  from  the  extravagance 
of  her  costume  and  the  levity  of  her  demeanour,  appeared 
to  date  from  about  the  beginning  of  the  last  quarter  of  the 
previous  century,  was  officiously  disturbing  the  meditations 
of  her  infant  charge  by  rocking  the  cradle  with  her  foot. 
After  a  few  minutes  spent  in  this  occupation,  the  nurse 
began  to  croon,  half  to  herself,  half  to  the  baby,  the  words 
of  an  early  Victorian  lyric : — 

' '  Tom,  Tom,  the  piper's  son, 
Stole  a  pig.  and  away  he  run." 

Several  times  over  she  repeated  this  weird  distich,  and 
on  each  occasion  the  rhyme  seemed  to  send  a  shudder 
through  the  baby's  frame.  At  the  fifth  repetition  of  it  he 
held  up  a  slightly  creased  forefinger,  as  though  to  enjoin 
silence,  and  then,  turning  half  round  in  his  cradle,  he  de- 
livered himself,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  of  the  following 
impromptu  criticism  : — 

' '  Come  !  come  !  '  away  he  run  ' — - 

Such  grammar,  girl,  is  worse  than  none. 
Should  we  not  read,  '  the  piper's  man, 
Stole  a  pig,  and  away  he  ran'  ?  ' 


THE  FIRS'!   AGE.  19 

"  Meo periculo,  of  course,"  he  added  with  a  slight  smile, 
as  he  resumed  his  former  position  in  the  cradle. 

The  girl,  somewhat  abashed,  accepted  the  emendation, 
and  continued  her  recital  in  the  new  form  suggested  by  it. 
But  it  was  evidently  an  effort  to  her,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
she  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Is  that  a  son  to  be  proud  of,  or  not  ?  "  said  Time,  who 
it  is  unnecessary  to  say  was  as  invisible  to  the  nurse  as  was 
his  companion,  and  whom  the  baby  no  doubt  would  not 
have  believed  in  if  it  could  have  seen  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vicesimus,  "  he  is  not  what  you  would  call  a 
backward  child.  The  principles  of  grammar  have  evidently 
got  themselves  thoroughly  organised  among  the  hereditary 
faculties  of  the  race.  They  now  come  by  nature,  as  writing 
and  reading  have  done  for  many  centuries.  Still,  I  should 
like  to  see  some  evidences  of  scientific  information  and 
reasoning  power.  I  hate  precocious  children,  but  there  are 
some  things  which  even  children  ought  to  know,  and " 

"  Hush  !  "  interrupted  Time.  "  Unless  I  am  mistaken, 
the  nurse  is  repeating  to  herself  some  lines  of  an  early 
biological  poem  which  ought  to  provide  exactly  the  sort  of 
test  you  require." 

And,  sure  enough,  the  girl  at  that  moment  began  to 
repeat  in  a  louder  voice  : — 

"  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee 
Improve  each  shining  hour, 
And  gather  honey  all  the  clay 
From  every  opening  flower/' 

She  was  not  allowed  to  get  any  further,  for  at  this  point 
the  baby  struck  in  with  the  sarcastic  interpellation  : — 


20  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Hmv  doth  the  little  bee  do  this? 

Why,  by  an  impulse  blind. 
Cease  then  to  praise  good  works  of  such 
An  automatic  kind." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  asked  Time. 

"  Satisfactory  enough,"  answered  the  infant  Age.  "  It 
shows  dialectical  alertness,  and  an  early  grasp  of  biological 
truth.  But  listen  !  " 

Again  the  nurse  resumed  her  recital,  in  these  words  : — 

"  Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite, 

For  God  hath  made  them  so  ; 
Let  bears  and  lions  growl  and  fight, 
For  'tis  their  nature  to." 

"  Indeed  ! "  interrupted  the  baby,  with  an  indescribable 
bitterness  of  contempt — 

' '  Indeed  !  A  brutal  nature  then 

Excuses  brutal  ways. 
Unthinking  wench  !  you  little  know 
The  problems  that  you  raise." 

The  girl,  however,  apparently  without  heeding  the  inter- 
ruption, continued : — 

"  But,  children,  you  should  never  let 

Your  angry  passions  rise  ; 
Your  little  hands  were  never  made 
To  tear  each  other's  eyes." 

But  again  from  the  cradle  arose  that  voice  of  relentless 
criticism  : — 

"  Not  made  to  tear  !  well,  what  of  that  ? 

No  more,  at  first,  were  claws. 
All  comes  of  Adaptation,  fool, 
No  need  of  Final  Cause. 


THE  FIRST  AGE.  21 

And  if  we  use  the  hands  to  tear 

Just  as  the  nose  to  smell, 
Ere  many  ages  have  gone  by 

They'll  do  it  very  well." 

"  Knows  his  Darwin — eh  ?  "  said  Time,  with  a  wink  at  his 
young  companion. 

"  Yes.  I  am  not  sure  that  his  applications  of  his  know- 
ledge are  always  quite  sound,"  said  Vicesimus,  "  but  that  is 
a  matter  of  opinion.  And  now  what  are  his  moral  senti- 
ments like  ?  Is  he  abreast  of  the  New  Humanity  ?  That  is 
the  question." 

"  And  a  question  which  ought  to  be  settled,"  said  Time, 
"  by  the  barbarous  old  nursery  ditty  that  I  hear  that  girl 
repeating  to  herself." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  the  nurse  broke  out  into  that  ancient 
cradle  song  of  our  Aryan  forefathers  : — 

' '  By,  baby  bunting, 

Father's  gone  a-hunting, 
All  to  get  a  rabbit's  skin 
To  wrap  the  baby  bunting  in." 

Slowly,  and  in  a  tone  of  profound  seriousness,  like 
Arthur  answering  Sir  Bedivere  from  the  barge,  the  baby 
delivered  itself  of  the  following  protest : — 

' '  The  cruel  sport  of  hunting 
To  moral  sense  is  stunting, 
And,  since  papa's  objection 
To  useful  vivisection 
Convicts  him,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
Of  signal  inconsistency, 
I  must,  with  thanks,  decline  the  skin 
For  wrapping  baby  bunting  in." 

"  Will  that  do  ? "  asked  Time,  in  a  tone  of  exultation 
which  might  or  might  not  be  feigned. 


22  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Quite,  thank  you  ! "  said  Vicesimus.  "  My  inspection  of 
the  typical  baby  has  been  exceedingly  interesting,  and  has 
been  attended  with  thoroughly  satisfactory  results.  Nothing 
could  be  more  gratifying  to  a  parent  than  the  sight  of  so 
thoughtful  and  up-to-date  an  infant.  And  to  think  that  a 
few  short  centuries  ago  a  child  of  that  age  would  have 
been  simply  '  mewling  and  puking  in  his  nurse's  arms  ' ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Time  ;  "  he  doesn't  mewl  much,  does  he  ?  " 

"  He  doesn't  mewl  at  all,"  replied  Vicesimus ;  "  at 
least,  if  I  rightly  understand  what  mewling  is.  And  he  only 
pukes  after  a  spiritual  and  allegorical  fashion.  His  puking 
is,  in  fact,  the  mere  rejection  of  the  crude  and  undigested 
beliefs  of  the  past." 

"You  ought  to  be  very  proud  of  him,"  said  his  aged 
companion,  grinning. 

"No  doubt  I  ought,"  said  the  other.  "I  ought,  I 
suppose,"  he  continued,  as  he  re-composed  himself  into 
a-  comfortable  attitude  in  the  arms  of  Time,  "  to  feel  like 
the  man  celebrated  in  those  lines  of  the  old  Roman  poet : — 

'  Omnes  omnia 

Bona  dicere  et  laudare  fortunas  meas 
Qui  gnatum  haberem  tali  ingenio  prreditum.' 

You  may  take  me  away  again.  The  only  thing  we  have  to 
do  now  is  to  let  Nature  have  its  way  with  that  child,  and  to 
beware  of  forcing  the  tender  plant." 


II. 

THE  SECOND  AGE. 

"  Then  the  whining  schoolboy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school." 

VICESIMUS  watched  his  babies  with  interest,  and,  for 
the  whole  time  of  his  own  babyhood,  with  sympathy. 
He  was  much  struck  by  their  High  Seriousness,  as  they 
called  it,  in  conversation  with  each  other ;  and  he  admired 
it  all  the  more  because  he  felt  that  they  derived  it  from 
him.  It  was  the  same  habit  of  mind  by  which  he  had 
himself  been  led  to  rebuke  what  he  regarded  as  the 
frivolities  of  Time.  For  Time,  indeed,  he  had  no  respect 
whatever,  or  scarcely  any.  Even  from  his  earliest  moments 
he  had  felt  no  disposition  to  recognise  either  relationship 
or  debt  to  him.  As  a  matter  of  dry  scientific  fact,  Vicesimus 
was,  of  course,  aware  of  his  descent  from  him;  and,  equally 
of  course,  he  could  not  deny  that  his  own  mental  posses- 
sions and  characteristics — his  thoughts  and  impulses,  his 
emotions  and  beliefs — were  in  some  sort  a  derivation  and 
inheritance  from  this  despised  old  Abstraction.  But  he 
heartily  disliked  the  thought,  and  put  it  away  from  him  at 
every  recurrence  of  it  with  an  increasing  impatience. 

The  truth  was  that  Vicesimus  resented  the  notion  of 
being  the  offspring  of  anybody.  He  liked  to  think  of  him- 
self as  self-caused,  as  a  being  who  had  sprung  into  existence 


24  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

out  of  an  eternal  primordial  germ,  which  had  itself  always 
existed,  and  had  always  contained  the  potentiality  of  Vice- 
simus — nay,  which  was  Vicesimus  from  all  eternity.  He 
objected  strongly  to  Time's  describing  him  as  being,  or  as 
possessing,  or  as  being  animated  by,  a  spirit ;  and  though  the 
poverty  of  language  compelled  him  sometimes  to  use  that 
word  in  describing  his  own  nature  and  energy,  he  always 
used  it  under  protest :  for  spirit  had  a  derivative  sound 
about  it,  and  Vicesimus  not  only  resented  the  thought  of 
his  having  been  made,  created,  or  begotten,  but  did  not  like 
even  to  think  of  himself  as  "proceeding." 

Nevertheless,  he  took  considerable  pride  in  the  infant 
generation  of  his  own  heirs,  and  would  not  for  a  moment 
have  admitted  that  their  High  Seriousness  was  self-originated, 
or  come  by  in  any  way  save  through  inheritance  from  him. 

But  whatever  the  origin  of  the  quality,  Vicesimus  de- 
clared to  himself,  again  and  again,  as  he  looked  round  the 
world  from  his  cradle,  that  it  was  never  more  urgently 
needed  by  civilised  mankind.  For  the  sight  of  those 
civilised  members  of  the  human  race  who  had  survived  from 
the  days  of  the  departed  Seekleham  filled  him  with  dismay. 
Indeed  he  often  asked  himself,  in  the  words  of  the  Mongolian 
necromancer,  whom  he  had  occasionally  heard  quoted  by 
Time,  whether  civilisation  was  not  a  failure,  and  "  the 
Caucasian  played  out."  All  mankind,  or  all  adult  mankind, 
were  relapsing;  he  declared  with  bitterness,  so  far  as  their 
intellectual  tastes  were  concerned,  into  primitive  savagery. 

They  were  absolutely  given  over  to  Romances  of 
Adventure ! 

Men  and  women,  rich  and  poor,  busy,  or  so-called  busy, 
and  idle,  alike,  they  were  all  in  -the  same  case.  Every 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  2$ 

moment  which  they  could  steal  from  eating,  drinking, 
sleeping,  and  money-getting  was  devoted  to  the  Romance 
of  Adventure. 

The  Red  Indian  sitting  by  his  camp-fire  was  not  more 
eager  to  hear  or  to  tell  some  story  of  the  hunt  or  the  battle. 
The  ancient  Scandinavian  or  the  modern  Maori  was  not 
fonder  of  fairy  tales  and  folk  lore.  The  generation  bred  up 
on  the  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  and  the  Castle  Spectre,  and 
Melmoth  the  Wanderer  could  not  have  been  more  devoted 
to  the  supernatural.  No  man  or  woman  over  forty  would 
look  at  anything  else.  As  soon  as  the  housewife  could 
scramble  carelessly  through  her  domestic  duties,  as  soon  as 
the  father  of  the  family  could  hurry  away  from  his  scamped 
or  neglected  business,  the  whole  household  settled  down  to 
the  only  kind  of  "  evening  at  home  "  for  which  they  cared. 
Statesmen,  ecclesiastics,  barristers,  solicitors,  stockbrokers, 
artists,  architects,  civil  engineers,  soldiers  on  leave,  sailors 
on  shore,  physicians,  surgeons,  and  even  general  practi- 
tioners deaf  to  the  calls  of  the  night  bell,  gathered,  so  to 
speak,  round  their  respective  camp-fires,  and  read  Romances 
of  Adventure  to  each  other  aloud. 

The  cheeks  of  middle-aged  men  flushed  hot  with  generous 
excitement,  as  in  imagination  they  watched  some  act  of 
heroism  by  flood  or  field ;  and  elderly  hearts  beat  faster  at 
the  tale  of  some  hairbreadth  escape.  Every  night,  in  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  households  all  over  the  civilised  world, 
adult  audiences  sat  breathless  while  treasures  were  discovered 
in  mysterious  islands ;  while  unexplored  continents  were 
forced  to  unveil  their  long-hidden  secrets  of  blood,  and  terror, 
and  superstition  ;  while  daring  hunters  skilfully  "  potted  " 
elephants,  and  still  more  adroitly  preserved  themselves ;  and 


26  NUMBER   TWENTV. 

while  ghosts  and  ghost-seers  "  taught  the  laws  of  death's 
untrodden  realm  "  to  the  mortal  upon  earth,  with  almost 
enough  confidence  and  precision  to  enable  him  to  offer 
himself  for  examination  on  the  subject  and  qualify  for  a 
degree. 

And  all  this  time  studious  infants,  withdrawn  in  disgust 
from  the  society  of  their  frivolous  elders,  lay  musing  in  their 
cradles  on  "  Robert  Elsmere,"  or  studying  with  pleasure  the 
exquisite  literary  vignettes  of  Dean  Howells,  the  last  of  the 
great  American  divines. 

"The  infants  of  this  generation,"  exclaimed  Vicesimus, 
with  enthusiasm,  "  will  save  themselves  by  their  gravity,  and 
the  adult  world  by  their  example." 

Thus  passed  away  the  period  of  his  childhood :  thus,  and 
with  this  singular  contrast  between  childhood  and  old  age 
ever  before  his  eyes — the  one  full  of  High  Seriousness,  the 
other  consumed  by  an  unquenchable  thirst  for  the  Romance 
of  Adventure.  Needless  to  say,  the  victory  was  to  the  young. 
One  by  one  the  old  and  middle-aged  schoolboys  went  off 
upon  an  unknown  adventure  of  their  own,  while  grave 
infants  stepped  out  of  their  cradles,  advanced,  or  rather 
receded,  from  long  clothes  to  "  short  coats,"  contracted  still 
further  to  knickerbockers,  expanded  again  to  trousers,  and 
finally  went  to  school. 

But  then,  to  use  a  phrase  struck  out  in  a  flash  of  inspiration 
by  the  author  of  a  Romance  of  Adventure,  a  "  strange  thing 
happened." 

The  High  Seriousness  of  the  infant  population  had  gone 
on  getting  higher  and  more  serious  every  year.  From  long 
clothes  to  short  coats,  from  short  coats  to  knickerbockers, 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  27 

from  knickerbockers  to  trousers  their  gravity  had  continued 
to  increase ;  but  when  they  reached  an  age  to  be  sent  to 
school  they  showed,  to  the  surprise  of  their  elders,  no  par- 
ticular eagerness  to  avail  themselves  of  that  privilege  of 
their  years.  Whether  it  was  that  the  energetic  process  of 
self-instruction  to  which  they  had  one  and  all  subjected 
themselves,  from  the  very  first  hour  of  their  existence,  had 
taught  them  everything,  or  had  merely  given  them  a  distaste 
for  all  teaching  but  their  own,  it  were  hard  to  say ;  but 
certain  it  is  that  they  showed  no  desire  to  go  to  school,  and 
that  they  had  not  been  long  there  before  they  began  to 
manifest  the  profoundest  disgust  for  it.  Crowds  of  them 
might  be  seen  daily,  their  morning  faces  shining  with  the 
inspiration  of  independent  thought,  and  transfigured  by  a 
noble  yearning  for  intellectual  freedom,  creeping  like  snails 
unwillingly  to  school.  Many  of  them  had  their  satchels  full 
of  thoughtful  essays  on  the  futility  of  education. 

And  Vicesimus,  though  at  first  he  was  shocked  and  scan- 
dalised at  their  unwillingness  to  go  to  school,  was,  to  his 
own  surprise,  not  long  in  sympathising  with  it. 

This  change  in  his  feelings  dated  from  the  day  when  Time 
at  his  request  accompanied  him  on  a  visit  of  inspection  to 
one  of  the  schools.  It  was  a  large,  bare  room,  containing 
however  no  more  than  about  fifty  boys,  each  seated  at  a 
small  table  with  an  adult  by  his  side. 

"  Who  are  the  '  grown-ups '  ?  "  inquired  Vicesimus,  some- 
what puzzled. 

"  Masters,"  replied  Time.     "  Who  should  they  be  ?  " 

"  But  there  are  fifty  of  them  !  " 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"  But  there  are  only  fifty  boys  ! " 


28  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Only  fifty  !    Would  you  have  more  boys  than  masters  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Don't  you.  It's  perfectly  plain.  It  is  just  because 
there  are  only  fifty  boys  that  there  are  no  more  than  fifty 
masters." 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  said  Vicesimus,  impatiently,  "  but  why  so 
many  ?  " 

"  So  many  boys  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  so  many  masters.  So  many  for  that  number 
of  boys." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Time,  carelessly,  "  unless  it  is 
because  that  is  the  custom  of  the  age." 

"  The  custom  of  the  age  ?  "  said  Vicesimus,  indignantly. 
"  But  /am  the  age,  and  I  think  that  the  proportion  of  one 
master  per  head  of  the  attendance  is  excessive.  How  comes 
it  that  the  schools  are  so  preposterously  over-staffed  ?  It 
is  not  my  animating  spirit  that  has  suggested  such  an 
absurdity.  That,  at  least,  I  can  answer  for." 

"  No,"  replied  Time,  "  it  is  the  development  of  a  tendency 
encouraged  during  his  closing  years  by  the  late  lamented 
Seekleham.  But  you  had  better  inquire  a  little  into  the 
educational  system.  You  will  find  that  the  large  number  of 
masters  is  an  inevitable  incident  of  it." 

"  What  is  the  curriculum  ?  "  asked  Vicesimus. 

"  There  is  no  curriculum,"  was  the  reply. 

Vicesimus  stared  at  the  aged  Figure  for  a  moment,  and 
then  smiled  slightly. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  understand  me,"  he  said  :  "  I  will  ask 
one  of  the  masters." 

"  He  will  be  certain  not  to  understand  you,"  said  Time, 
dryly.  "All  he  knows — and  perhaps  he  has  forgotten 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  29 

that,  unless  the  word  occurs  in  a  chronicler  of  his  period — • 
is  that  '  curriculum  '  is  the  Latin  for  a  racecourse." 

"  YCS  ;  but  it  also  means  a  course  of  studies." 

"  Exactly,  and  that  is  why  he  won't  understand  it.  There 
is  no  course  of  studies — not  in  any  one  school.  If  you  want 
to  see  a  course  of  studies  you  will  have  to  make  a  round  of 
schools.  And  you  will  find  it  a  good  day's  work,  I  can  tell 
you.  There  are  as  many  as  ten  schools,  each  exclusively 
devoted  to  the  teaching  of  a  different  section  of  the  same 
period.  And  it  is  not  a  long  period,  either.  I  remember  it 
as  well  as  if  it  was  yesterday ;  indeed,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned it  was  yesterday.  From  the  accession  of  Henry  II. 
to  the  Council  of  Clarendon." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  school  is  solely  engaged 
in  teaching  the  history  of •  " 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  said  Time,  a  little  impatiently,  "  that  the 
parents  of  a  boy  who  comes  into  this  school  at  ten  years 
old,  and  leaves  it  at  eighteen,  may  count  upon  his  knowing 
his  English  history  from  1154  to  1164  as  well  as  any  parents 
could  desire." 

"  But  nothing  else  ?"  asked  Vicesimus,  wonderingly. 

"No,  nothing  else.  But  then,  you  see,  what  he  does 
know  he  knows  thoroughly  and  at  first  hand — mark  that, 
at  first  hand.  You  see  that  pupil  leaving  the  schoolroom 
with  his  master;  where  do  you  suppose  they  are  bound 
for  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  The  Record  Office,  my  boy  ! "  exclaimed  Time,  in  a 
tone  of  triumph,  real  or  assumed.  "  The  Record  Office, 
to  consult  an  '  original  authority.'  Now,  perhaps,  you  under- 
stand the  reason  why  there  is  one  master  to  each  boy. 


30  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

Oh,  there  is  no  smattering  here,  I  can  tell  you.  Every  boy 
is  thoroughly  well  grounded  by  the  time  he  leaves 
school." 

"Yes,"  said  Vicesimus,  "in  English  history  from  1154  to 
1164.  But  would  he  be  so  thoroughly  well  grounded  in 
anything  else  ?  Or  only,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  bitter- 
ness, "  thoroughly  well  gravelled  ?  What  does  he  do  when 
he  leaves  school  ?  Goes  to  a  university,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  irony  with  which  Vicesimus  put  this  last  question 
was  apparent  enough  in  his  tone.  But  Time,  without 
seeming  to  notice  it,  quietly  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  his  young  descendant.  "  A  univer- 
sity !  A  society  for  the  study  and  teaching  of  the  Univer- 
sitas  Scientiarum  ?  Or  a  body  empowered  to  confer  degrees 
upon  whosoever  prove  themselves  adequately  instructed  in 
the  history  of  England  from  1154  to  1164  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Time,  "it's  longer  than  that.  There  is  a 
university  for  every  '  period,'  though  there  are  schools  and 
degrees  in  every  section  of  each  period." 

"  But  it  is  all  history  ?     No  other  faculties  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Time,  smiling,  "  the  students  them- 
selves have  no  other  faculties  when  they  come  here,  and 
they  wouldn't  appreciate  any  variety  of  that  kind  in  their 
university.  To  provide  it  would  be  useless,  and  perhaps 
worse.  It  would  mean  either  superfluity  or  confusion,  or 
possibly  both." 

"  Is  nothing  but  history  taught  anywhere  ;  in  any  school 
or  university  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  was  the  reply,  "  science  is  also  taught." 

"On  the  same  admirable  principle  of  the  division  of 
labour?" 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  31 

"  Just  the  same,  only  it  is  perhaps  carried  a  little  further. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  case  of  Anatomy.  That  subject 
supports  ten  universities,  each  devoted  to  the  study  of  a 
different  tissue  for  the  '  soft  parts '  alone ;  and  there  is  an 
eleventh,  the  University  of  Osteology,  which  has  just  founded 
a  Professorship  of  the  Spinal  Column,  and  has  a  school,  and 
grants  degrees  for  each  separate  bone  in  the  body." 

"The  whole  system,"  said  Vicesimus,  a  little  discon- 
tentedly for  such  a  child  of  science,  "  seems  to  be  purely 
scientific." 

"  Not  entirely,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  there  is  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  public  who  are  passionately  devoted  to  the 
study  of  the  supernatural,  and  the  various  scientific  bodies, 
to  save  themselves  from  becoming  too  unpopular,  have 
humoured  it.  There  has  for  some  time  past  been  a  Chair 
of  Demonology ;  there  are  several  Professors  of  Spookical 
Research,  and  they  have  quite  recently  founded  a  Reader- 
ship in  Palmistry." 

"  Is — is  there,"  said  Vicesimus  after  some  hesitation, 
"any  teaching  of  English  literature  either  in  school  or 
university  ?  " 

"  Literature  ?  I  suppose  you  mean  philology." 

"  I  suppose  I  do,*  said  Vicesimus,  meekly ;  for  he  felt 
more  and  more  out  of  harmony  with  his  environment. 

"  They  are  the  same  thing,  you  know.  Yes,  there  are 
several  Philological  Universities." 

"Real  literature,"  said  the  other  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  seemed  to  be  reflecting  deeply,  "  is  of  course  the 
same  thing  as  philology  ;  but  there  is — or  was,  I  believe — 
a  form  of  so-called  literature  which  does  not  exactly  square 
with  it.  I  mean  Poetry.  Do  they  teach  poetry  now  ?  " 


32  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Teach  it  ?  "  echoed  Time  with  a  chuckle.     "  No,  they 
don't  exactly  teach  it.    They  try  and  cure  it." 
"  Eh  ?  "  said  the  other,  puzzled.    "  Cure  it  ?  " 
"  Yes,  cure  it !     Don't  you  understand  ?  " 
"  Oh,  to  be  sure — of  course  ! "  replied  Vicesimus,  ashamed 
of  not  being  up-to-date.     "  How  stupid  of  me.     You  mean 

that  their  Schools  of  Poetry " 

"  There  are  no  Schools  of  Poetry — only  hospitals." 
"  Well,  then,  their  Universities  of  Poetry— 
"  There  are  no  Universities  of  Poetry — only  asylums." 
"  What?     Well,  now,  I  confess  I  don't  understand." 
"  Yet  it  is  very  simple.     The  sufferers  whose  cases  are 
not  considered  hopeless  are   sent  to  the  hospitals.      The 
incurables  are  drafted  off  to  the  asylums.     As  a  rule,  if  a 
patient  is  not  restored  to  prose  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of 
years,  he  is  regarded  as  an  incurable,  and  a  place  is  found 
for  him  in  an  asylum  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  I   see,"    said    Vicesimus :    "  they    treat    poetry    as    a 
disease  !  " 

"  Is  it  anything  else  ?  "  said  Time,  with  a  quiet  smile. 
"  Well,  no  ;  perhaps  not.     Only  it  isn't  catching." 
"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  the  reply,  "  nor  is  the 
scientific  world.     Indeed,  I  may  say  that  the  preponderance 
of  scientific   opinion   is   the   other  way.      The   prevalent 
treatment,  in  fact,  presupposes  it ;  for,  otherwise,  I  doubt 
whether  society  would  consider  itself  justified  in  putting 
poets   under   restraint.     In   themselves,   they   are   usually 
harmless   enough ;  but  it  is   felt  that  nothing   short   of  a 
system  of  rigid  isolation  will  stamp  out  the  disease." 

Vicesimus  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments.     In  spite 
of  his  air  of  indifference  he  did  not  feel  quite  comfortable. 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  33 

Saturated  as  he  was  by  inheritance  with  the  scientific  spirit, 
he  had  to  confess  to  himself  that  he  was  not  altogether 
reconciled  to  the  theory  that  poetry  was  a  mere  form  of 
mental  aberration.  Whether  it  was  that  the  discontent  of 
his  school-boy  children  was  reacting  upon  him,  or  whether 
the  feeling  was  self-originated,  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  regard  an  exclusively  scientific  system  of  education  as 
absolutely  satisfying  to  his  whole  nature. 

"  Was  poetry,"  he  murmured,  almost  timidly,  "  considered 
a  disease  in  Old  Seekleham's  time  ?  " 

"  A  good  many  things  were  not  considered  diseases  in 
Old  Seekleham's  time  which  people  are  wise  enough  now- 
adays to  recognise  as  such,"  replied  the  other,  in  that 
provokingly  ambiguous  tone  which  might  conceal  either 
earnestness  or  irony.  "The  truth  is  that  it  was  mainly 
owing  to  Old  Seekleham  himself  that  it  ever  became  as 
serious  a  matter  as  it  is.  The  disease  was  rapidly  becoming 
endemic  in  the  closing  years  of  his  life ;  but  he  was  one  of 
those  who  believe  in  leaving  maladies  of  that  kind  to  them- 
selves. A  fatal  mistake.  Nobody  could  have  given  the 
system  of  neglect  a  fairer  trial  than  he  did  with  most 
of  his  afflicted  poets  for  at  least  twenty  years  before  his 
end." 

"  Yet  the  disease  continued  to  spread  ?  " 

"  It  continued  to  spread,  and  it  showed  signs  of  becoming 
congenital  in  the  race.  You  have  heard  of  children  '  lisping 
in  numbers  ' — pooh,  no  !  what  am  I  saying  ?  Of  course  you 
can't  have, — well,  there  always  have  been  such  children,  and 
they  got  at  last  to  multiply  at  an  appalling  rate.  Every 
child  began  to  '  lisp  in  numbers,'  and  in  the  last  year  of  his 
existence — I  didn't  tell  him  about  it ;  the  poor  old  fellow 

IV.  L.—XV.  -} 


34  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

was  becoming  imbecile,  and  I  thought  I  would  let  him  end 
in  peace — society  found  that  it  would  have  to  put  its  foot 
down  in  earnest.  Some  well-known  philanthropists  took 
the  lead,  and  the  scourge  was  resolutely  tackled.  Hence 
the  hospitals  and  asylums.  They  board  out  the  children 
who  show  inherited  symptoms  of  the  complaint,  and  endea- 
vour by  regular  exercise,  simple,  healthful  diet,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it,  to  eradicate  the  taint  in  childhood.  Sometimes 
they  are  successful ;  and  a  baby  who  began  by  '  lisping  in 
numbers '  may  be  all  right  and  quite  competently  pedestrian 
by  the  time  he  is  two  or  three  years  old.  Another  will 
remain  uncertain  on  his  feet  much  longer,  and,  of  course,  if 
when  he  reaches  the  period  of  youth  he  shows  any  well- 
marked  indications  of  the  malady — 'rolling  eye,' for  instance 
— they  pack  him  off  to  the  hospital  without  a  moment's 
delay.  Nothing  like  taking  the  thing  in  time." 

"  What  is  the  treatment  ?  "  asked  Vicesimus. 

"  Oh,  it  varies  with  the  severity  of  the  attack.  For  a 
mild  form  of  it,  such  as  the  blank-verse  variety,  a  purely 
herbal  treatment  is  sometimes  sufficient.  Chopped  leaves 
of  grass  have  been  tried  with  good  results.  The  '  lengths ' 
become  gradually  more  and  more  irregular,  and  the  patient 
after  a  while  is  discharged  cured.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
if  any  patient  remains  in,  or  can  be  reduced  to,  the  blank- 
verse  stage,  they  generally  discharge  him." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Vicesimus. 

"Yes,  he  is  considered  convalescent;  as,  indeed,  he 
usually  is.  He  requires  a  keeper  for  a  time,  of  course,  but, 
as  a  rule,  he  is  soon  able  to  dispense  with  his  services.  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  a  so-called  '  blank -verse  patient '  is  in 
reality  a  cured  man,  and  talks  as  rationally  as  the  rest  of  us, 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  35 

only  a  little  more  monotonously.  It  takes  a  quick  ear  to 
distinguish  it  from  prose." 

"  But  the  more  acute  cases  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  do  the  best  they  can  with  them  :  that  is 
about  all  you  can  say.  That — and  that  it's  a  thoroughly 
humane  system.  No  whips,  or  chains,  or  strait  waistcoats. 
Just  a  simple  padded  room  for  the  lyrical  cases,  and  that  is 
all.  But  really  I  don't  know  why  we  should  go  on  discussing 
this  painful  subject.  I  thought  we  had  come  here  to  study 
the  schools." 

"  I  don't  want  to  study  the  schools,"  said  Vicesimus, 
shortly.  And  he  added,  after  another  glance  around  him 
at  the  fifty  pupils  each  deep  in  his  "ten  years'  section," 
with  his  master  at  his  side,  "  They  are  as  painful  to  me  as 
hospitals." 

He  was  surprised  at  himself  when  he  had  said  it;  and 
not  less  so  at  the  strength  of  those  vague  inward  stirrings  of 
unrest  which  had  forced  the  exclamation  from  him. 

Time  surveyed  him  for  a  moment  with  a  curious  sort  of 
smile,  and  then  went  his  way. 

But  Vicesimus  could  not  go  that  way.  To  his  extreme 
astonishment  he  found  himself — latest  birth  of  Time  as  he 
was — in  constantly  strengthening  opposition  to  what  he  had 
supposed  to  be  his  own  spirit,  the  Spirit  of  the  Age.  As 
year  succeeded  year,  and  he  watched  the  growing  restless- 
ness and  discontent  of  the  rising  generation  with  the  estab- 
lished educational  system  and  methods,  he  felt  himself 
drawn  into  ever-closer  sympathy  with  their  mood.  It  was 
far  from  a  willing  sympathy ;  indeed,  he  tried  with  all  his 
might  to  resist  it.  His  pride  revolted  at  the  notion  of  taking 
his  cue  from  his  own  children. 


36  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Can  this,"  he  often  asked  himself  uneasily,  "  can  this 
he  the  experience  for  which  Time  prepared  me  ?  Are  these 
young  rascals  really  reacting  upon  their  Era?"  And  he 
struggled  harder  than  ever  to  show  them  that  he  had  no 
notion  of  being  influenced  by  them. 

But  it  was  in  vain.  They  were  influencing  him  more 
and  more  powerfully  every  year.  He  rebelled  as  they  did 
against  a  culture  which  nourished  nothing  in  human  nature 
but  its  critical,  analytic,  and  deductive  faculties,  and  left  its 
imaginative  and  emotional  parts  to  starve.  And  he  heartily 
sympathised  with  their  eagerness  for  the  hour  which  should 
bring  their  period  of  tutelage  to  an  end,  and  set  them  free 
to  satisfy  those  instincts  of  their  being  to  which  science  had 
wholly  failed  to  respond. 

But  before  that  hour  came,  another,  big  with  momentous 
consequences,  had  struck  for  Vicesimus  himself. 

How  it  all  happened  he  never  precisely  knew.  All  he 
could  remember  was  that  one  day,  as  he  lay  asleep,  he  felt 
a  hand  pressed  lightly  upon  his  closed  eyelids,  and  that  he 
opened  them  and  looked  up. 

Beside  him  stood  a  woman,  fair  as  Aphrodite,  grave  as 
Pallas,  royal  as  Hera,  with  form  and  features  of  a  divine 
majesty  and  beauty,  and  with  all  the  glory  of  the  sunset,  all 
the  mystery  of  the  starlight,  in  her  unfathomable  eyes. 

It  was  a  radiant  but  a  momentary  vision.  She  smiled 
upon  him,  beckoned  to  him,  and — was  gone. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  stared  around  him  in  amaze- 
ment. Time  was  sitting  near  him,  toying  with  his  hour-glass  ; 
but  Vicesimus  took  no  note  of  the  figure  at  his  side,  for  he 
was  gazing  upon  a  transfigured  world  ! 


THE  SECOND  AGE.  37 

Cloud  and  sunshine,  sea  and  mountain,  brook  and 
meadow,  leaf  and  flower,  the  browsing  kine,  the  soaring 
lark,  the  skimming  swallow,  all  were  changed,  all  glorified; 
beautiful  beyond  words,  strange  past  all  imagining.  An 
unspeakable  peace  contended  with  an  intolerable  yearning 
for  the  mastery  of  his  soul. 

"  Who — who  was  that  ?  "  he  stammered  at  last. 

"  Who  was  what  ?  "  asked  Time  carelessly. 

"That — that —  -"  and  Vicesimus  stopped,  speechless,  as 
"woman,"  "angel,"  "goddess,"  rose  together  to  his  lips. 
' '  She — she  who  touched  my  eyes  and  woke  me  ;  she  whom 
I  saw  for  a  moment,  and  who  is  gone." 

"Touched  your  eyes,  did  she?"  said  Time.  "Then 
that's  not  all  she  has  done  to  you,  my  young  friend.  You 
have  been  touched  somewhere  else,  you  will  find." 

"  In  my  heart  ?  "  cried  Vicesimus,  eagerly. 

"  Perhaps  ! "  replied  his  companion  drily,  "  but  in  your 
head  certainly.  That  attractive  but  half-witted  female  is 
the  mother,  or  the  mistress,  or  the  goddess,  or  the  saint- 
patroness — they  don't  seem  to  know  exactly  what  the 
relation  is,  and  they  all  disagree  with  each  other  about  it, 
and  for  that  matter  with  themselves  in  different  moods — of 
those  unfortunate  lunatics  we  have  been  talking  of.  That 
is  Poesy  !  " 

"  Well,  she  is  simply  the  most  beautiful  young  creature  I 
ever  saw,"  said  Vicesimus  with  conviction. 

"  Young  !  "  echoed  the  other.  "  Pooh  !  she  is  almost  as  old 
as  I  am." 

For  the  first  time  since  his  awakening  Vicesimus  turned 
and  looked  at  the  speaker ;  and  a  fresh  flood  of  amazement 
poured  over  him. 


38  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

"  But  you  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  not  old  !  You  are 
young  ! " 

"  You  flatter  me,"  said  Time,  grimly. 

"  Flatter  you  !     You  don't  suspect  me  of  irony  ?  " 

"  No  !  only  of  idiocy.     I  know  the  symptoms  too  well." 

"  Yes  ! "  repeated  Vicesimus,  growing  more  and  more 
excited,  "  you  are  young — young,  and  fresh,  and  straight, 
and  smiling,  and  light  of  footstep  !  And  I  who  thought  you 
so  old,  and  grey,  and  dull,  so  lame  and  bowed  !  Why,  where 
is  your  goat-beard,  man  ?  And  your  stoop  ?  And  your 
forelock  ?  And  your  leaden  foot  ?  And  what's  gone  of  your 
scythe  ?  And  what's  come  to  your  hour-glass  ?  " 

For,  though  the  contents  of  the  upper  globe  mysteriously 
kept  their  level,  its  sands  were  sliding  downward  through 
the  neck  with  tenfold  rapidity,  in  a  thread  of  flying  gold. 

Vicesimus  struck  his  rejuvenated  companion  on  the 
shoulder,  and  broke  into  a  merry  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Ay,"  grumbled  Time,  "  laugh  on,  featherhead  !  It  is 
easy  to  see  what  is  the  matter  with  you." 

And,  in  fact,  it  was  easy.  Nothing  in  the  world  could 
have  been  easier. 

Vicesimus  was  in  love  ! 


III. 

THE  THIRD  AGE. 

"  And  then  the  lover 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woeful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow." 

THE  two  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a  few  moments 
in  a  silence  which  Time  was  the  first  to  break. 
"  Good-bye,"  he  said.    "  I  am  going." 
"  Going  !  "  exclaimed  Vicesimus,  in  sudden  alarm.     "  Oh, 
no !  stay  !  stay,  I  entreat  of  you — stay  for  ever !  I  wish — 
oh,  how  I  wish  that  you  might  never  move  again  !  " 

"  Thank  you  !  "  replied  the  other  ;  "  but  I  have  never  led 
a  sedentary  life,  and,  in  spite  of  your  kind  compliments,  I 
am  too  old  to  form  new  habits.  My  rate  of  movement 
varies,  no  doubt,  but  I  never  stop." 

"  Never  stop  ! "  cried  Vicesimus.  "  Well,  no,  not  for 
other  people,  perhaps.  I  could  understand  that.  But  not 
for  me?" 

"  No,"  said  Time  sturdily,  "  not  for  you  !  " 
The  other  gazed  at  him  with  a  countenance  in  which 
astonishment,  disgust,  and  grief  were  gradually  merged  in 
an  expression  of  scandalised  indignation.  That  at  this 
particular  moment — the  moment  when  the  world  had,  for 
the  first  time,  become  enchanted  to  him,  and  nothing  was 
wanting  for  its  enjoyment  but  that  Time  should  just 
oblige  by  staying  where  he  was — he  should  refuse  to  do  so  ! 


40  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

The  thing  was  simply  monstrous.     Vicesimus  was  too  much 
hurt  and  wounded  to  utter  another  word. 

After  a  minute  or  two,  Time  spoke  again. 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  the  old  familiar  irony 
in  his  voice,  "  you  must  remember  that  in  your  present 
mood  you  are  not  particularly  good  company  for  me.  You 
can  hardly  expect  me  to  care  about  remaining  with  one  who 
for  hours,  days,  weeks,  months,  perhaps  years  to  come,  will 
be  perfectly  unconscious  of  my  existence.  No,  Vicesimus, 
I  will  say  good-bye  to  you.  You  think  you  want  me  to 
stay,  but  you  don't.  If  I  were  to  take  you  at  your  word,  you 
would  soon  be  in  a  fever  of  impatience  with  me  for  not 
moving.  Later  on,  it  will  be  different.  I  will  pay  you 
another  visit  when  you  are  some  years  older,  and  then 
perhaps  I  shall  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  your  invitation. 
Then,  when  you  ask  me  to  stay,  I  shall  know  that  you  mean 
it — and  you,"  he  added  to  himself,  "  will  wish  you  may  get 
it!" 

He  was  gone  in  a  moment,  justifying  one  of  his  last 
remarks  in  the  very  act  of  departing,  for  Vicesimus  was 
quite  unconscious  of  his  flight. 

What  is  more,  he  remained  so  for  several  years  to  come ; 
and  so  did  a  very  large  majority  of  his  children.  Even 
while  Time  was  uttering  those  farewell  words  of  his,  they 
came  pouring  in  a  tumultuous,  nay  a  rebellious,  concourse 
out  of  the  schools.  Their  masters,  one  to  every  boy, 
rushed  after  them,  expostulating,  exhorting,  beseeching, 
denouncing,  but  in  vain.  A  madness  against  which  they 
were  powerless  to  contend  had  seized  their  pupils.  The 
historical  student  no  longer  cared  a  fig  about  dates;  the 


THE   THIRD  AGE.  41 

student  of  anatomy  snapped  his  fingers  at  the  lecturer  on 
the  sesamoid  bones ;  the  youthful  biologist  ridiculed  the 
pretensions  of  his  tutor  to  give  him  any  real  insight  into 
life.  The  revolt  was  general ;  but  the  insurgents,  having 
flung  off  their  chains,  were,  as  in  many  other  cases,  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  to  do  with  their  liberty.  They  hurried  aim- 
lessly hither  and  thither,  or  gathered  together  in  a  confused 
and  swaying  crowd. 

It  was  the  moment  of  Vicesimus,  and  he  felt  it.  "  They 
have  been  influencing  me  long  enough,"  he  said  to  himself; 
"  it  is  time  for  me  to  breathe  some  of  my  new  spirit  into 
them."  And,  stepping  forward  a  pace  or  two,  he  shouted 
in  a  loud  voice :  "  Is  it  possible,  my  boys,  that  you  don't 
know  the  first  thing  to  be  done  ?  The  poets  !  The  poets  ! 
Release  the  persecuted  poets  !  " 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  words  of  Vicesimus 
fell  like  a  blow  of  the  flint  upon  the  steel,  striking  out  the 
fiery  thought  that  had  lain  hidden  in  the  mind  of  all.  A 
wild  cry  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  crowd,  and  hastily 
snatching  up  such  weapons  as  they  could  find,  they  hurried 
pell  mell  to  the  nearest  hospital. 

Vicesimus  followed  them  at  a  distance,  curious  to  see 
what  would  happen,  and  not  without  a  feeling  of  pride  that 
he  was  regaining  his  ascendency  over  his  children. 

The  hospital  was  reached,  "  rushed,"  and  carried  promptly 
by  assault.  The  medical  staff  were  overpowered  without 
much  difficulty.  The  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  with 
piercing  but  melodious  cries  of  joy  and  gratitude  the  poets 
streamed  out.  At  the  sight  of  the  sun,  no  longer  seen 
through  the  windows  of  a  ward,  at  the  kiss  of  the  breeze  of 
freedom  on  their  brows  and  cheeks,  at  the  voices  of  their 


42  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

young  deliverers,  some  of  them  burst  into  song  that  broke 
down  in  tears  ;  others  (and  these  the  stronger)  into  tears 
that  were  staunched  in  song.  And  at  the  sight  and  sound 
of  them  Vicesimus,  fresh  himself  from  the  touch  of  Poesy, 
was  deeply  moved. 

Nevertheless,  the  effect  was  on  the  whole  disappointing. 
A  large  number,  indeed  much  the  larger  proportion  of  then), 
were  indistinguishable  from  the  crowd  with  which  they  had 
mingled.  It  appeared  pretty  clear  to  him  that  the  great 
majority  of  them  were  completely  cured. 

On  inquiring  of  the  eminent  expert  in  Poetic  Lunacy  who 
filled  the  post  of  chief  resident  physician,  and  whose  lower 
lip  was  a  little  swollen  and  bleeding  slightly  from  a  blow, 
he  found  that  this  was  the  actual  fact.  All  but  three  or  four 
of  the  cases,  he  was  told,  had  already  yielded  to  treatment ; 
and  these  three  or  four,  added  his  informant,  pointing  to  a 
group  of  poets  singing  loudly  at  a  little  distance,  would  have 
been  sent  next  day  to  an  asylum  for  Incurables. 

"  In  fact,"  said  the  physician,  with  a  somewhat  forced 
smile,  which  was  not  rendered  more  natural  or  graceful  by 
his  wounded  mouth,  "  it  hardly  seems  worth  while  to  have 
broken  into  a  hospital  for  so  little." 

Some  of  the  youths  present  raised  a  cry  of  "To  the 
Asylums,"  but  it  was  not  taken  up  very  heartily,  and  the 
crowd  which  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest 
asylum  was  but  a  small  one,  and  returned  empty-handed. 
For  it  was  thought  advisable  before  proceeding  to  extremi- 
ties to  ascertain  the  wishes  of  the  inmates,  and  it  was  found 
that  they  were  unanimous,  to  an  Incurable,  in  favour 
of  remaining  where  they  were.  They  were  so  thoroughly 
convinced,  they  said,  of  the  now  hopelessly  prosaicised 


THE    THIRD  AGE.  43 

character  of  that  world  of  men  from  which  they  had  so 
long  been  secluded,  that  they  preferred  to  end  their  days  in 
the  company  of  their  own  thoughts,  and  of  their  criticisms 
of  each  other. 

Such  were  the  first  disencharitments  of  Vicesimus  since  , 
his  awakening — -but,  alas  !  there  were  many  worse  in  store  for 
him.  He  had  yet  to  learn  of  what  refinement  of  cruelty  the 
goddess  of  his  adoration  was  capable  when  she  descended, 
an  ironical  Diana  upon  an  inadequate  Endymion,  to  touch 
the  sleeping  eyes  of  an  essentially  prosaic  young  Age. 

For  she  had  touched  his  eyes  only,  and  not  his  lips ;  and 
in  many  a  bitter  hour  of  mute  or  stammering  struggle  did  he 
learn  how  heavy  was  the  curse  of  denial  which  had  accom- 
panied the  blessing  of  the  gift. 

Everywhere  he  sought  the  radiant  vision  which  had  once 
revealed  itself  to  him — everywhere  and  always  :  on  the 
mountain,  and  in  the  meadow ;  in  the  nestling  hamlet,  and 
in  the  lonely  glen ;  by  the  sound  of  waters,  and  in  the 
deepest  stillness  of  the  woods ;  at  sunset,  and  at  moonrise ; 
and  then  most  of  all, — then  when  he  could  almost  feel  her 
breath  in  the  dawn-wind,  and  hear  her  voice  in  the  first 
twitter  of  the  birds, — at  the  hour  of  daybreak.  But  never 
again  did  he  see  her  face  to  face.  He  knew,  he  felt,  that,  if 
only  he  could  do  so,  she  would  redeem  the  blessing  from 
the  curse ;  that  she  who  had  opened  his  eyes  would  then 
also  unseal  his  lips ;  that  the  thoughts  with  which  his 
bosom  was  bursting  would  find  a  vent,  and  that  the  dumb 
yearnings  which  would  not  let  him  rest  would  be  stilled. 

And  many  and  many  a  time  did  he  dream  that  she  was 
on  the  point  of  appearing  to  him,  of  speaking  to  him,  of 


44  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

once  more  touching  him  with  her  benignant  hand.  Many 
and  many  a  time  had  he  turned  cold  in  the  twilight  at  what 
he  thought  was  the  rustle  of  her  robe  ;  many  a  time  and  oft 
had  his  heart  stood  still  at  her  fancied  whisper  in  his  ear. 
But  he  saw  nothing — nothing  but  the  world  of  beauty  and 
mystery  to  which  she  had  opened  his  eyes ;  heard  nothing 
but  the  imprisoned  voice  within  him  wailing  distantly  for 
release  ;  felt  nothing  but  the  old,  eternal,  speechless  pain. 
And  then  for  a  season  his  anguish  would  become  too 
great  to  be  borne.  His  passionate  prayers  to  the  adored  and 
fugitive  goddess  would  well-nigh  rise  to  the  fury  of  an  im- 
precation against  her  who  had  troubled  thus  cruelly  his  brute 
repose ;  who  had  grafted  the  longings  of  the  immortal 
upon  the  powers  of  the  child  ;  who  had  taken  from  him  the 
tranquillity  of  the  sightless  only  to  condemn  him  to  the  agony 
of  the  dumb.  But  even  at  this  moment,  when  his  madness 
reached  its  highest — at  the  moment  when  he  was  about  to 
curse  at  once  the  giver  and  the  gift,  the  peace  of  Nature 
would  descend  upon  him,  and  his  longings  would  die  away 
like  the  fretful  sobs  of  an  infant ;  and  with  a  shudder  at 
the  blasphemy  which  had  trembled  on  his  lips,  and  a 
blessing  upon  her  who  had  unveiled  to  him  the  face  of 
his  Mother,  unknowable  and  unspeakable  though  she  were, 
and  ever  might  be,  he  would  sink  to  sleep. 

From  all  which,  however,  it  will  be  seen  that  Poesy 
incurred  a  serious  responsibility  when  she  descended,  an 
ironical  Diana  upon  an  inadequate  Endymion,  to  touch  the 
sleeping  eyes  of  an  essentially  prosaic  young  Age. 

But,  in  the  meantime,  how  fared  it  with  his  children  ? — 


THE   THIRD  AGE.  45 

with  the  children  into  whom  he  had  breathed  some  of  his 
own  adoration  of  Poesy,  without  any  of  that  faculty  of 
expression  which,  alas  !  was  not  his  to  communicate? 

U'ell,  some  few  of  them  had  as  bad  a  time  of  it  as  himself. 
They  longed  as  ardently  as  he  to  master  the  divine  language, 
and  strove  as  vainly  with  their  task,  and  suffered  as  acutely 
from  their  failure. 

But  with  the  others  it  was  different.  They  promptly 
and  complacently  invented  a  jargon  of  their  own,  and, — in 
order  that  they  might  be  disturbed  by  no  misgivings  on  the 
matter, — assured  each  other  once  a  week,  and  sometimes 
oftener,  that  it  was  really  and  truly  the  divine  language. 
They  sighed  like  furnaces  all  over  the  country,  and  com- 
posed ballads  to  the  eyebrow  of  Poesy,  which  were  un- 
doubtedly woeful  if  nothing  else ;  and  as  most  of  them, 
unlike  Vicesimus,  had  never  even  seen  the  goddess  whose 
eyebrow  they  celebrated,  they  had  naturally  no  reason  for 
doubting  the  merit  of  any  particular  ballad,  or  for  suspect- 
ing it  to  be  unworthy  of  its  subject  or  unfaithful  to  its 
original. 

This  was  the  reply  to  Poesy  of  the  children  of  a  prosaic 
young  Age ;  and  in  the  course  of  time,  by  dint  of  the 
invariable  law  of  interaction,  it  began  to  exert  a  reflected 
influence  on  the  prosaic  young  Age  himself.  As  the  ardour 
of  his  worship  abated  with  maturing  years,  and  the  echoes  of 
the  true  though  imprisoned  voice  within  him  grew  fainter 
and  fainter,  and  became  at  last  inaudible,  Vicesimus  began, 
he  too,  to  sigh  like  a  furnace,  and  to  compose  ballads  to  the 
eyebrow  of  Poesy,  and  finally  got  to  believe  that  they  were 
the  genuine  thing. 

But  not  for  long.     He  had  other  children  besides  the 


46  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

poetasters — hardy,  sturdy,  action-loving,  commonplace  chil- 
dren, conscious  of  their  prosaic  origin,  and  proud  of  it ;  and 
their  influence  was  from  the  first  a  competing  one  with 
the  other.  It  did  not,  of  course,  avail  to  reveal  to  Vicesimus 
the  spiritual  inadequacy  of  his  own  and  his  other  children's 
attempts  at  poetry,  but  it  inspired  him  by  degrees  with 
an  intellectual  contempt  for  their  weakness.  He  longed 
for  something  in  the  poetic  order,  which,  if  not  divine, 
should  at  least  be  vigorously  human — for  something 
strong,  manly,  and  robust.  If  that  was  not  to  be  attained 
by  him  or  by  his  children,  then  away  with  art  for  ever,  and 
welcome  the  life  of  action  ! 

But  there  was  still  an  element  of  hope  remaining.  There 
was  a  poetry  of  action,  as  there  was  a  poetry  of  thought  and 
of  emotion.  What  had  the  drama  been  doing  during  all 
those  years  of  woeful  ballad^making  and  imitations  of  the 
furnace  ? 

"  What  has  the  drama  been  doing  ?  "  echoed  Time,  who 
at  this  moment  appeared  unbidden  at  Vicesimus's  side, 
"  Come  with  me  and  I  will  show  you." 

"  Has  it  degenerated  into  mere  word-spinning,  like  lyric 
poetry?"  asked  Vicesimus,  as  he  prepared  to  follow  his 
guide. 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Time.  "  I  can't  exactly  say  that.  It 
does  not  suffer  from  an  excess  of  manner  like  other  forms 
of  poetic  literature.  Indeed  it  rather  despises  style  and  the 
arts  of  language  altogether.  You  can  see  that  from  the 
history  it  has  gone  through.  Just  before  Old  Seekleham 
expired,  the  realistic  drama  got  to  be  so  overrun  with  stage 
directions  that  they  ate  up  the  text ;  and  then  a  new  school 
arose,  which  started  with  the  principle  that  the  highest  form 


THE    THIRD  AGE,  47 

of  dramatic  literature  was  dumb  show.  However,  the  mute 
drama  only  lasted  a  few  years,  after  which  they  found  it 
necessary  to  go  back  to  words  again.  There  was  nobody,  I 
suppose,  with  enough  literary  gift  to  keep  the  other  style 
going.  But  ever  since  then  the  question  of  manner  has  ceased 
to  interest,  and  everything  now  turns  on  matter.  And  a 
precious  turn  things  have  taken  in  that  respect,"  he  added, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Vicesimus. 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Time,  "  it  was  the  Realists'  doing.  They 
carried  their  principles  to  such  a  pitch  that  they  provoked  a 
Sentimental  Reaction  which — but  here  we  are." 

And  Vicesimus  found  himself,  side  by  side  with  his 
conductor,  in  a  well-appointed  study,  where,  unseen  by  its 
occupants,  a  youth  and  an  old  man,  he  listened  with 
disgust  and  amazement  to  the  following 

COLLOQUY  OF  INGENUUS  AND  THE  AGED  DRAMATIST. 

"  Yes,  Ingenuus,"  said  his  venerable  companion,  smiling, 
"you  may  indeed  be  thankful  that  you  were  born  in  a 
happier  age  than  your  parents.  You  would  hardly  have 
enjoyed  your  visit  to  the  theatre  so  much  last  night  had 
your  youth  been  spent  under  the  same  conditions  as  mine. 
Ah  !  Othello,  or  rather  Virtue  Triumphant, — for  though  I 
say  it  that  shouldn't,  perhaps,  the  second  title  is  more  to  my 
liking, — was  a  very  different  play  then." 

"  Dear  Uncle,"  said  the  youth  admiringly,  "  how  much 
the  world  owes  to  you  for  having  remodelled  the  denonment 
of  that  now  delightful  drama  !  Yet,  to  us  of  the  present 
day,  it  seems  hard  to  realise  the  idea  that  it  could  ever  have 
ended  otherwise  than  with  the  beautiful  scene  of  mutual 


48  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

reconciliation  that  you  wrote  for  it — so  humane,  so  hopeful, 
so  satisfactory  all  round.  Indeed,  indeed,  we  owe  you 
much." 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  old  man  modestly.  "  It  was  no  great 
merit  of  mine,  after  all.  Like  all  reformers,  I  found  my 
most  powerful  ally  in  the  monstrous  growth  of  the  evil  which 
I  attacked.  It  was  the  excesses  of  pessimism  twenty  years 
ago  that  made  inevitable  the  reaction  which  I  led.  Perhaps 
if  the  pessimists  had  left  Hamlet  and  Macbeth  alone,  we 
should  never  have  got  a  hearing  for  the  first  product  of  that 
reaction,  the  play  which  prepared  the  way  for  the  Lear,  the 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  that  most  successful  of  my  revisions, 
the  drama  you  saw  last  night." 

"T*he  first  product  of  the  reaction?"  said  Ingenuus, 
inquiringly.  "  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  know  what  that 
was." 

"  It  was  my  Shylock  ;  or,  The  Forgiving  Jew  "  replied  the 
aged  dramatist.  "  And,  as  I  have  said,  I  doubt  whether  I 
should  have  found  a  public  so  prepared  to  accept  it  had  it 
not  been  for  the  extravagant  fashion  in  which  pessimistic 
Realism  had  dealt  with  Hamlet  and  Macbeth" 

"  But  is  it  possible,  dear  sir,"  said  the  youth,  "  that  pessi- 
mistic Realism  found  anything  to  complain  of  in  the  original 
Shakspearean  form  of  those  two  dramas  ?  "  ^ 

"  Indeed,  it  is  possible,"  was  the  answer.  "  The  conclusion 
of  Hamlet  in  particular  gave  great  offence  to  the  Realists. 
They  were  shocked  at  the  extreme  clumsiness  of  the  ar- 
rangement whereby  the  Prince  and  Laertes  exchange  foils, 
and  they  pointed  out — I  own  with  some  force — that  a  com- 
plete failure  to  avenge  his  -father's  death  would  be  more  in 
keeping  with  Hamlet's  irresolute  and  unpractical  character 


THE   THIRD  AGE.  49 

than  the  tardy  and  doubtful  success  which  attends  his  efforts. 
Hence,  in  their  later  version  of  the  play,  they  made  him  fall 
to  the  ground  completely  paralysed  by  the  wound  from  the 
poisoned  foil,  and  expire  in  great  agony  without  being  able 
to  communicate  his  secret  to  any  one  but  Horatio,  who  in- 
timates by  a  meaning  glance  at  Claudius,  as  the  curtain  falls, 
that  he  intends  to  use  it  for  purposes  of  chantage" 

"  Dear  me ! "  exclaimed  Ingenuus,  "  that  was  a  dreary 
denoumcnt  indeed." 

"  Was  it  not  ?  "  said  the  Shakspearean  reviser.  "  But  I 
almost  think  that  the  end  of  Macbeth  was  made  more  de- 
pressing even  than  that." 

"  Indeed  !  you  surprise  me.     And  how?  " 

"  Well,  the  Realists  declared,  you  see,  that  a  superstitious 
coward  such  as  Macbeth  was  would  have  collapsed  at  once 
on  hearing  that  the  juggling  fiend  had  '  paltered  with  him 
in  a  double  sense.'  Indeed  he  does,  if  you  remember,  say 
to  Macduff,  '  I'll  not  fight  with  thee  ! ' " 

"  True,  but  Macduff  replies, 

'  Then  yield  thee,  coward, — 
And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o'  the  time: 
We'll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are, 
Painted  upon  a  pole,  and  under  writ, 
"  Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant." ' 

Upon  which  Macbeth  indignantly  rejects  the  proposal,  and 
bids  Macduff  '  lay  on.' " 

"  Exactly  !  Well,  the  Realists  made  him  accept  the  pro- 
posal. In  their  version  he  surrenders,  and  consents  to 
become  the  show  and  gaze  o'  the  time;  stipulating  only — 
a  condition  to  which  Macduff,  at  the  instance  of  Malcolm, 

\v.  L.-XV. 


50  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

reluctantly  accedes — that  rotten  eggs  and  other  missiles 
shall  be  barred.  The  curtain  falls — and  a  very  effective 
'  curtain '  it  was  thought  in  those  days — on  the  entrance  of 
the  painters  who  have  come  to  paint  him  upon  a  pole." 

"  And  that  was  actually  the  end  of  the  play  ?  " 

"  Scenically  speaking,  it  was ;  though  there  was  a  hint  in 
the  closing  lines  of  the  dialogue  that  Macduff,  elated  by  his 
conquest  over  the  usurper,  had  formed  the  ambitious  design 
of  murdering  Malcolm,  and  founding  a  military  despotism 
in  Scotland,  with  himself  as  the  first  military  despot." 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  exclaimed  Ihgenuus,  "  that  drama  of 
this  depressing  sort  should  have  led  to  a  revolt,  and  that 
the  public  mind  should  soon  have  been  filled  with  an  eager 
longing  for  something  more  cheerful,  more  human — since 
human  nature,  after  all,  is  cheerful  if  left  to  itself — than  this 
wretched  stuff." 

"  Not  with  so  eager  a  longing,  either,"  said  the  old  man, 
a  little  nettled  at  finding  that  the  influence  of  the  "  natural 
reaction  "  was  in  danger  of  being,  as  he  thought,  exaggerated 
at  the  expense  of  his  own  credit.  "  I  had  to  educate  the 
public  into  a  taste  for  my  Shakspearean  revisions,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  do  it  by  degrees.  I  began,  as  you  know,  with 
the  Merchant  of  Venice,  and  pointed  out  how  absurd  it  was 
to  describe  as  a  '  com  edy '  a  play  which  turns  on  th» 
dishonest  defraudation  of  a  Jew  who  has  been  previously 
robbed  and  deserted  by  his  daughter.  Do  you  recollect 
the  passage  in  the  Trial  Scene  in  which  Portia  pronounces 
judgment?  It  is  there  that  my  revision  begins.  Shall  I 
recall  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Pray  do  so,"  said  Ingenuus,  eagerly.  "  I  should  like  it 
of  all  things." 


THE   THIRD  AGE.  51 

"  You  remember,  then,  that  speech  of  Portia's  which  ends 
with  the  words — 

'  Nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair, 
Thou  diest ;  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate.' 

Well,  my  version  continues  thus  : — 

ANT.     Nay,  learned  doctor,  but  this  must  not  be. 
Take  my  good  thanks,  I  know  thou  meanest  well, 
But  who  saith  flesh,  saith  blood  :  'tis  even  so 
In  lay  and  common  parlance  of  the  time, 
And  shall  the  law  say  other?     God  forbid  ! 
For  law  that  useth  not  the  people's  speech, 
But  wraps  itself  in  quirks,  and  grows  astute 
With  sleight  of  words  to  catch  unwary  men 
In  pitfalls,  is  a  danger  and  accurst. 

POR.     Noble  Antonio — 

ANT.  Prithee,  by  your  leave 

Bear  with  me  ;  I  have  little  more  to  say. 
I  hunger  not  for  death,  yet  would  I  scorn 
To  owe  the  sherds  and  scantlings  of  a  life 
To  trick  of  plea  or  clerkly  subtlety. 
Shylock,  approach  !  behold  my  bosom  bared  1 
Nay,  start  not !     It  is  thine,  thy  thing,  thy  pledge. 
Take  it,  foreclose  upon  my  mortgaged  flesh. 
Issue  elegit  on  this  realty 

Of  skin  and  nerves,  yea  !  on  this  fair  demesne 
That  here  extended  lies,  awaiting  writ, 
This  poor,  pale  surety  of  its  bankrupt  lord. 
To't  then  !     Be  speedy  !     Carve  thy  penalty  ! 

POR.     Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ?     Take  thy  forfeiture. 

"  I  see,"  said  Ingenuus,  "  that  you  retain  the  language 
of  the  original  wherever  it  is  possible. ' 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  dramatist.  "  I  worked  in  a  spirit 
of  reverence  for  my  author. 


52  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

SHY.  [Raising  Ms  arm,  then  suddenly  lowering  it.~\ 

I  will — I — 'tis  in  vain  !     I  cannot  strike  ! 
Antonio,  thou  hast  conquered.    LQ,  I  yield  ! 
My  wrath  hath  fizzled  out,  and  that  fierce  hate 
I  bore  towards  the  Gentile  name  and  race 
Hath,  at  the  cooling  breath  of  thy  reproof, 
Turned  all  to  concord  and  sweet  arnity. 
Now  in  my  breast  there  springs  the  better  thought 
That  'twere  a  burning  shame  and  foul  reproach 
To  Israel  if  one  of  Gentile  blood 
Should  in  nobility  outdo  a  Jew. 
That  shall  not  be,  God  willing.     Here  I  rend 
The  bond  that  bindeth  thee,  Antonio.  [He  tears  the  bond. 

Away,  ye  two  stern  judges  of  my  claim! 

[He  flings  away  the  scales. 
And  thou,  their  horrid  beadle  !          [He  flings  away  the  knife. 

I  will  ask 

No  penalty,  no  forfeit,  no  escheat. 
Give  me  my  principal — with  interest 
At  five  per  cent,  per  month — and  let  me  go. 

BAS.    O  gentle  Jew  ! 

DUKE.  O  strange  ! 

GRA.  O  Gentile  Jew  ! 

Good  Shylock,  I  had  hatched  a  merry  jest 
To  fling  at  thee,  but  shall  not  get  it  oft". 
Me  thou  hast  conquered,  as  Antonio  thee  ! 

SHY.     The  cash  !     I  would  be  jogging  ! 

FOR.  Tarry,  Jew,— 

And  here,"  said  the  dramatist,  looking  up  from  the 
book,  "  I  have  introduced  bodily  the  whole  of  Portia's 
next  speech,  in  which  she  points  out  to  Shylock  that  he  has 
brought  himself  within  the  penalty  of  the  law  which  enacts 
that  he  who  seeks  the  life  of  any  citizen  shall  forfeit  half 
his  goods  to  the  threatened  party,  and  the  other  half  to  the 
State.  Whereupon  Antonio  cuts  in  again,  addressing 
Portia — 


THE   THIRD  AGE.  53 

Your  pardon,  sir,  but  that  may  never  be. 

Law  cannot  punish  what  the  law  directs, 

Nor  Justice  scourge  her  plaintiffs,  howsoe'er 

Perversely  in  the  right.     Bethink  thee,  too, 

The  Jew  sought  not  my  life  save  while  he  deemed 

That  I  resisted  his  most  righteous  claim: 

Whatever  scheme  he  harboured  was  renounced 

On  my  submission,  and  his  bosom's  floor 

Was  with  the  fan  of  pity  throughly  purged 

When  to  his  better  feelings  I  appealed. 

And  give  me  leave,  sir  doctor,  to  observe 

That  all  the  burden  of  this  usurer's  faults, 

His  spite  and  over-reaching  lust,  descends 

On  thee,  that  in  the  very  novelty 

And  freshness  of  his  noble  deed  canst  strive 

To  catch  his  feet  in  quillets.     Fie  on  us! 

If  we,  with  all  our  Christian  privileges, 

Are  worse  than  Ebrews. 

FOR.  Merchant,  thou  art  right, 

Ami  thy  reproof  hath  cut  me  to  the  heart. 
For  it  doth  wound  more  than  the  Christian  in  me. 
It  smites  the  woman.     I  am  Portia. 

BAS.     O  day  and  night  !     The  lady  Portia  ! 

POR.  Ay. 

And  this,  Nerissa  I 

GRA.  Father  Abraham! 

Your  pardon,  Jew  !     No  Gentile  oath  will  serve. 

POR.     And  here  I  lay  aside  my  doctor's  robe, 
Abashed  and  overcrowed  by  Shylock's  deed, 
Antonio's  words,  and  my  own  fatal  lack 
Of  moral  sense.     So  let  my  sisters  all 
Be  taught  of  Portia  that  they  strive  no  more 
With  men  in  the  professions,  least  of  all 
Compete  with  them  in  practice  of  the  law  ; 
Seeing  that  woman,  fair  in  all  things  else, 
Is  never  fair  in  play,  and  once  engaged 
In  the  sharp  battle  of  the  courts,  and  hot 
With  thirst  of  victory,  as  a  general  rule 
Would  stoop  to  sharper  practice  than  a  man." 


54  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  interrupted  Ingenuus.  "  Wasn't  that  rather 
a  risky  passage  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  just  caught  the  audience 
at  the  very  top  of  the  reaction  against  the  Woman's  Move- 
ment. It  was  cheered  to  the  echo.  But  don't  interrupt. 
I  am  almost  at  the  end. 

DUKE.     Ay,  but  no  woman  is  the  State,  nor  I 
That  rule  it,  and  the  State  shall  do  thee  right, 
Shylock,  thou  much  abused  and  injured  man  ! 
From  this  day  forth  I  do  release  thee  quite 
From  all  the  civil  disabilities 
Of  Jewish  blood.     Thou  shall  deliver  up 
Thy  badge  of  sufferance  to  be  cancelled.     None 
On  the  Rialto,  no,  nor  otherwhere 
Within  our  city,  shall  assault  thee  more ; 
None  taunt  thee  with  thy  trade,  or  tweak  thy  nose, 
Or  spit  upon  thy  Jewish  gabardine. 
Thy  daughter  shall  restore  thee  what  she  took, 
And  young  Lorenzo  shall  to  prison  straight, 
There  to  abide  the  judgment  meted  out 
By  law  to  the  receiver  of  stolen  goods. 
Nor  shall  he  clear  himself  till  he  redeem 
The  turquoise  that  thou  had'st  of  Leah.     Ay, 
He  shall  give  back  thy  ring,  or,  in  its  place, 
A  wilderness  of  monkeys :  rest  content. 
Meanwhile,  the  story,  Shylock,  of  thy  wrongs 
And  how  thou  did'st  o'erlook  them,  and  ignore, 
Shall  on  the  city's  archives  be  inscribed 
With  laud  deserved.     So  that  all  aftertime 
May  keep  the  memory  of  the  thing,  and  know 
How  better  far  it  is  to  spare  than  smite, 
How  much  forgiveness  doth  surpass  revenge." 

"  Beautiful  !  "  exclaimed  Ingenuus  with  unfeigned  enthu- 
siasm. "  So  Shakspearean  in  manner,  and  yet  so  thoroughly 
up  to  date  in  sentiment." 


THE    THIRD  AGE.  55 

"  You  think  it  Shakspearean  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  gratified. 
"  Most   distinctly   so,"  was  the  reply.     "  Look  at  these 
lines, — 

'  Nay,  start  not  !     It  is  thine,  thy  thing,  thy  pledge, 
Take  it,  foreclose  upon  my  mortgaged  flesh. 
Issue  elegit  on  this  realty 
Of  skin  and  nerves.'  " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  other  complacently,  "  that  was  to 
show  Shakspeare's  knowledge  of  legal  technicalities.  I  am, 
you  know,  a  believer  in  the  theory  that  he  devilled  for 
Bacon  when  the  future  Lord  Keeper  was  at  the  bar." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Ingenuus,  "  and  the  rest  of  the 
passage, — • 

'  Yea,  on  this  fair  demesne 
That  here  extended  Jies  awaiting  writ. 
The  poor  pale  surety  of  its  bankrupt  lord.' 

Or  this  again — 

'  His  bosom's  floor 
Was  with  the  fan  of  pity  throughly  purged.' 

Eminently  Shakspearean  ! " 

"  Ye-es,"  said  the  other  a  little  doubtfully,  "  but  the  next 
line, — 

'  When  to  his  better  feelings  I  appealed. ' 

And  later  on — 

'  If  we  with  all  our  Christian  privileges.' 

Do  those  lines  strike  you  as  equally  Shakspearean  ?  They 
sound  to  me  just  a  little  modern  and  commonplace, 
and  I  don't  feel  quite  sure  that  there  are  not  a  few  more 
blemishes  of  the  same  kind,  especially  in  Portia's  last  speech, 
and  here  and  there  in  the  concluding  address  of  the  Duke." 
"  I  didn't  notice  any,"  said  Ingenuus,  who  was  thoroughly 


$6  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

imbued  with  that  noblest  characteristic  of  the  culture  of  his 
period — its  indifference  to  faults  in  the  execution  of  any 
work  of  art,  so  long  as  it  inculcated  a  sound  moral  lesson. 
"  It  seemed  to  me  exactly  what  Shakspeare  would  have 
written  throughout,  except  that  it  was  animated  by  a  far 
broader  humanity  than  Shakspeare  was  capable  of  feeling. 
But  beautiful  as  your  Shylock  is,  I  think  it  is  surpassed  by 
that  lovely  and  imposing  tragedy  I  saw  last  night.  Yes  ! 
Othello  ;  or,  Virtue  Triumphant,  is  your  masterpiece." 

"  I  believe  it  is  generally  so  considered,"  said  the  Dramatist 
bashfully.' 

"What  a  magnificent  situation  is  that  where  Othello, 
with  his  arm  upraised,  at  the  words, 

'  By  the  throat  I  took  the  circumcised  dog, 
And  smote  him,7 

and  just  about  to  descend  and  bury  the  knife  in  his  heart 
at  the  word  '  thus,'  is  suddenly  spell-bound  by  hearing 
once  more  the  faint  notes  of  the  Willow  Song.  It  is  the 
most  thrilling  moment  that  I  know  of  in  the  whole  of  English 
drama." 

"  Yes,  the  situation  has  merits  ! "  said  its  inventor,  his 
withered  cheek  illumined  by  a  faint  blush. 

"  And  then  the  fine  concluding  scene  that  follows  ! " 
exclaimed  his  companion  excitedly,  snatching  up  the  Revised 
Shakespeare  and  beginning  to  read. 

'  OTH.    O  Desdemona  !  Desdemona  !  living  ! 
O  !  O  !  O  ! '" 

"  Note,"  said  the  Dramatist  parenthetically,  "  the  rever- 
ence of  the  treatment.  Except  for  the  alteration  of  the  word 
'  dead  '  to  '  living.'  I  have  strictly  followed  the  text. 


THE   THIRD  AGE.  57 

MON.  Livest  thou,  gracious  lady  ? 
DBS.  Ay,  fair  sir. 

And  by  the  grace  of  Heaven  many  a  year 
Shall  live  to  cure  the  madness  of  my  lord 
With  love's  sweet  hellebore.     To  yonder  pillow, 
Wherewith  his  frenzy  would  have  stifled  out 
My  innocent  life,  I  owe  it  that  I  live. 
For  it  is  an  air-cushion,  giving  back 
The  aliment  it  took,  a  kindly  foe 
To  the  beleaguered  fortress  of  my  breath, 
That  fed  the  garrison  its  siege  had  starved. 
So  lay  I  feigning  death,  and  then,  anon, 
As  soon  as  my  dear  lord  had  turned  his  back, 
I  flung  it  off. 

OTH.  Sweet  chuck  ! 

IAGO.  I  am  amazed. 

Nor  know  I  whether  my  perplexed  heels 
Tread  down  the  firm-based  earth,  or  raised  aloft 
Stare  upward  and  affront  the  hovering  moon. 

GRA.  That  shall  thou  know  full  soon,  thou  spawn  of  hell ! 
General,  take  order  with  him,  that  his  doom 
Be  short  and  sharp. 

DES.  Nay,  uncle,  let  me  speak  ! 

I  fain  would  plead  for  him  whose  bolt  hath  failed 
To  reach  its  sighted  victim,  and  recoils, 
An  ill-thrown  boomerang,  upon  his  head. 
Spare  him.  Othello  !  let  him  go  his  way. 
Mar  not  the  joy  of  our  recovered  loves 
With  deeds  of  vengeance  visited  on  one 
Who  did  but  act  according  to  his  kind. 

OTH.  Angel  of  grace,  thou  sayest  well.     His  guilt 
May  be  but  his  inheritance.     lago 
Approach,  thou  dcmi-devil. 

IAGO.  Noble  Moor 

OTH.  Nay,  never  hang  thy  head  !     We  are  but  men, 
And  thou  didst  only  what  thy  nature  bade. 
Ancient,  look  up  ! 

IAGO.  Nay,  prithee  ask  me  not, 

For  needs  must  that  I  commune  with  the  ground 


58  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

Whereon  my  sin  lies  painted  evermore 
In  portraiture  of  blood. 

OTH.  It  is  not  so, 

I  pray  you  do  not  so  consider  of  it, 
My  wife  yet  lives. 

IAGO.  Ay,  General,  but  mine  own  ? 

My  fair  Emilia  !     O,  I  have  slain 
The  dearest  she  that  ever  blest  a  he. 
I  will  betake  me  to  a  monastery, 
And  there  with  penance  and  with  prayer  atone 
For  blood. 
EMIL.  [Rising.]    Nay,  not  for  mine  ! 

IAGO.  Emilia ! 

EMIL.  Take  heart,  lago  !  thou  hast  harmed  me  not, 
The  rib  thou  smotest  was  not  mine— nor  thine — 
'Twas  but  my  corset's.     I  am  whole  and  sound  ! 

IAGO.  The  saints  be  praised  !     For  of  my  blackest  crime 
I  am  at  least  assoilzied.     Yet,  farewell ; 
It  still  is  fitting  that  I  take  the  vows 
For  guilt  unpurged.     I  murdered  Roderigo. 

MON.  Roderigo  ! 

IAGO.  Ay  !    Together  we  did  plan 

Assault  on  Cassio,  and  young  empty-pate 
Keing  by  him  he  made  at  shrewdly  hurt, 
And  lying  wounded,  I,  for  that  I  feared 
His  blabbing  tongue,  despatched  him.     Rest  his  soul ! 
He  had  his  qualities :  and  albeit  a  snipe, 
I  do  repent  me  that  I  took  his  life. 

Enter  RODERIGO. 

RODERIGO.  Say  that  thou  tried'st  to  take  it,  ancient. 

IAGO.  Ha ! 

ROD.  Honest  lago,  I  did  know  thee  better 
Than  thou  clid'st  wot  of,  and  did  never  care 
To  trust  thee  further  than  the  eye  can  reach. 
Wherefore,  when  I  went  Cassio-hunting  with  thee, 
I  wore  a  shirt  of  mail  from  which  thy  point 
Turned  blunted.     I  have  not  a  scratch. 

DBS.  Good  youth, 

I  do  rejoice  with  thee. 

OTH.  But  see  lago, 


THE    THIRD  AGE.  59 

How  straitly  he  cloth  still  peruse  the  earth. 

What  ails  thee,  man  ?     What  else  hast  thou  to  purge  ? 

Speak  ! 

IAGO.     I  have  wounded  Cassio  in  the  leg. 
And  to  a  monastery  must  retire. 

Enter  CASSIO. 

CASSIO.  Not  so.     'Twas  in  a  portion  of  the  limb 
Which  was,  yet  was  not,  parcel  of  myself. 
For  the  divinity  which  shapes  our  ends 
Did  fashion  mine  in  such  wise  that  for  me 
Tis  meet  I  plump  them  out.     Thus  did  thy  blow 
Fall  harmless,  striking  that  which  none  can  kill, 
An  artificially  fatted  calf. 

OTH.  This  is  good  news,  lieutenant.     Now,  by  heaven  ! 
Thou  shall  be  officer  of  mine  again. 
I  did  suspect  thee  rashly. 

CAS.  General, 

Rashly  is  scarce  the  word.     I  do  not  think 
I  am  exaggerating  when  I  say 
That  all  the  evidence  whereby  my  guilt 
Wa^  proved  to  thee,  and  on  the  which  thou  gav'st 
lago  orders  for  my  taking  off, 
Would  not  suffice  the  lightest  dairy  wench 
That  cuffs  a  cat  for  stealing  of  her  cream. 

OTH.  I  do  confess  it,  and  I  ask  thy  pardon. 

CAS.  To  thee,  as  free  as  to  thine  ancient  there, 
I  grant  it. 

OTH.         Ha  !  'tis  well.     Now  let  us  in  ! 
And  with  a  rousing  catch  awake  the  night ! 
For  all  goes  smoothly  now  which  was  so  crost, 
And  virtue  wins  which  hud  so  well-nigh  lost." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  asked  Time,  as  the  aged 
Dramatist  ceased  reading,  and  the  youth  stooped  reverently 
to  kiss  his  hand. 

"  Think  !  "  replied  Yicesimus,  with  a  disgust  too  deep  for 
words.  "  No  more  drama  for  me  !  I  am  evidently  neither 
a  p( 'die  nor  a  dramatic  Age. 


IV. 
THE   FOURTH  AGE. 

"Then,  a  soldier, 

Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth." 

POETRY,  meaning  thereby  the  art  of  giving  adequate 
expression  to  the  poetic  emotion,  is  a  very  frail  and 
delicate  product  of  the  human  mind.  It  is  reared  with 
difficulty  and  dies  easily.  Not  so  that  substitute  for  poetry 
which  the  prosaic  invent  for  themselves :  that  is  a  hardy 
perennial  indeed.  Nothing  kills  it :  neither  the  blasts  of 
contemptuous  criticism,  nor  the  frosts  of  utter  neglect. 
It  not  only  thrives,  but  thrives  best,  in  the  lightest  and 
shallowest  soils ;  and  after  the  exhaustion  of  everything 
in  the  human  mind  which  corresponds  to  the  chemical 
constituents  necessary  to  successful  agriculture,  it  continues 
to  reproduce  itself  with  an  imperturbable  fertility,  and 
a  supreme  disdain  for  the  principle  of  the  rotation  of 
crops. 

Hence  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  discovery  on 
the  part  of  all  the  more  intelligent  spirits  of  this  period 
that  the  Age  was  an  incurably  prosaic  one,  had  any 
immediate  effect  in  checking  the  production  of  verse.  It 
was  turned  out,  or  ground  out — either  a  flour  mill  or  a 

60 


THE  FOURTH  AGE.  61 

barrel  organ  will  equally  suit  the  metaphor — in  the  same 
enormous  quantities,  year  by  year.  Fewer  and  fewer 
people  paid  any  attention  to  it ;  but  that  made  no  differ- 
ence. It  was  there  if  they  wanted  it,  or  should  hereafter 
want  it,  and  in  the  virtuous  consciousness  that  they  were 
making  useful  provision  for  a  possible  change  in  the  public 
taste,  the  multitudinous  manufacturers  of  the  article  con- 
tinued placidly  to  produce  it  in  a  constant,  and  even — it 
was  thought  in  some  quarters — an  increasing  amount. 

Still  the  restlessness  which  had  made  the  bulk  of  man- 
kind intolerant  of  it  displayed  a  yet  more  rapid  growth. 
It  became  clearer  and  clearer  every  day  that  civilised 
humanity  had  outgrown  that  age  of  "  calf  love"  which,  for 
the  individual  member  of  the  species,  finds  its  most  charac- 
teristic expression  in  the  hopeless  attachment  of  a  youth 
for  a  middle-aged  woman,  while  with  the  race  itself  it  takes 
the  form  of  an  equally  desperate,  and  no  less  transient, 
passion  for  a  now  elderly  Muse  of  Poetry.  And  just  as  the 
youth  who  has  outgrown  his  adoration  of  the  mature 
charmer  very  often  takes  to  yachting,  or  big  game  shooting, 
or  "  ranching,"  or  globe-trotting,  or  to  some  other  form 
of  more  or  less  energetic  activity,  so  it  happened  at  this 
juncture  with  the  civilised  human  race.  Action  !  action  ! 
action  !  was  the  Demosthenic  exclamation — though  not  by 
any  means  in  the  same  sense  as  the  Athenian  orator — on 
the  lips  of  all.  Their  disgusted  satiation  with  the  exercise 
of  their  imaginative  faculties  did  not  send  them  back  again 
to  science :  it  impelled  them  to  those  forms  of  activity 
with  which  the  brain,  in  any  of  its  functions,  should  have 
as  little  as  possible  to  do. 

Of  course,  however,   it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that 


62  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

these  various  changes  in  the  mood  of  civilised  humanity 
assumed  different  degrees  of  importance  in  different  nations. 
In  all  of  them  the  scientific  spirit  had  at  first  been  strong. 
In  some  the  subsequent  revolt  against  it  had  been  equally 
marked ;  in  others  it  was  hardly  felt  at  all.  While  one 
nation  had  remained  tolerably  loyal  to  its  early  traditions 
of  scientific  culture,  and  had  only  taken  the  poetic  malady 
in  a  mild  form,  another  had  had  that  complaint  badly, 
while  a  third  had  been  ravaged  by  it  to  a  positively 
calamitous  extent.  And  the  recovery  from  it  exhibited 
corresponding  features  of  difference.  Here  would  be  found 
a  convalescent  people  which  had  taken  refuge  in  science, 
and  there  another  which  had  thrown  off  the  poetic  fewr, 
not  to  relapse  again  into  the  somewhat  lymphatic  condition 
of  a  scientific  community,  but  to  pass  into  a  state — hardly 
less  febrile  than  that  from  which  they  had  emerged — of 
insatiable  activity. 

Peoples  in  such  a  mood  become  the  natural  prey  of  the 
military  spirit,  and  one  immediate  effect  of  the  extinction 
of  the  imaginative  and  aesthetic  impulses  was  the  passing  of 
a  tremendous  wave  of  militarism  over  the  whole  civilised 
world.  The  sighing  lovers  and  the  eyebrow-hymning 
ballad-mongers  of  a  few  years  back  became  the  swaggering 
swashbucklers  of  the  newer  time.  They  had  had,  of 
course,  no  more  experience  of  actual  warfare  than  Cassio 
according  to  the  assertion  of  his  envious  comrade  ;  but 
they  made  up  for  want  of  practical  acquaintance  with  their 
subject  by  the  copiousness  of  their  theoretical  knowledge. 
Enough  remained  to  most  of  them  of  their  old  scientific 
habits  to  make  them  solicitous  of  technical  accuracy,  and 
they  soon  learned  to  use  all  the  military  terms  of  art  which 


THE  FOURTH  AGE.  63 

had  been  in  use  from  the  days  of  Alexander  downward, 
with  unerring  precision. 

Vicesimus  watched  their  proceedings  with  the  liveliest 
sympathy,  for  in  virtue  of  his  own  original  impulse  towards 
action,  combined  with  the  effect  of  their  reacting  influence 
upon  him,  he  was  himself  more  restless  than  any  of  them. 
His  head  ran  incessantly  on  military  matters,  and  he 
now  affected  a  soldierly  demeanour  and  style  of  dress, 
and  a  formidable  cut  of  beard.  He  became  touchy  and 
quarrelsome  in  his  intercourse  with  Time — who  had  now 
come  back  to  him,  not  looking  nearly  so  youthful,  and 
with  a  disagreeable  habit  of  "  hanging  heavily "  on 
Vicesimus's  hands.  He  was  continually  rebuking  his  aged 
companion  for  some  fancied  slight,  and  would  at  these 
moments  astonish  him,  even  with  his  long  experience  of 
human  inventiveness  in  the  matter  of  expletives,  by  the 
exceeding  strangeness  of  his  oaths. 

"  Glory,"  he  would  often  declare,  with  many  of  these  fancy 
imprecations,  "is  the  only  object  worthy  of  man's  pursuit." 

"  Humph  !  That's  rather  a  strange  thing  for  you  to  say, 
isn't  it  ?  "  Time  would  observe  on  these  occasions.  "  Now 
to  me  it  seems  rather  an  old-fashioned  idea." 

"  Old-fashioned  ! "  exclaimed  Vicesimus  almost  fiercely. 
"  What  in  thunder  do  you  mean  ?  The  love  of  fame  is 
a  natural  instinct  of  humanity,  implanted  in  the  breast  of 
mankind  a  score  of  ages  before  all  this  condemned  and 
withered  nonsense,  this  Tophet-born  and  Gehenna-begotten 
rubbish  about  the  brotherhood  of  the  race." 

"  But,  apart  from  the  humanitarian  aspect  of  the  question, 
how  does  it  look  to  the  scientific  eye  ?  What  has  science 
to  say  to  this  propensity  ?  " 


64  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Science  be  inflated  ! "  cried  the  other ;  "  unless  that, 
indeed,  is  a  superfluous  imprecation.  Science  had  better 
mind  its  own  scientific  eye,  I  can  tell  it !  The  world  is 
not  going  to  sit  at  its  feet  for  ever,  and  that  is  a  thing 
that  the  most  go-ahead  of  my  sons  will  pretty  soon  explain 
to  it.  In  another  year  or  two  they  will  be  doing  that  in 
a  very  rough  fashion,  I  expect." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Time. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ! "  replied  Vicesimus.  "  One  of  the  most 
active  and  adventurous  of  the  races  whom  I  am  proud  to 
own  as  my  sons,  is  getting  on  worse  and  worse  terms  every 
year  with  one  of  the  most  scientific  of  them,  and  there 
must  soon  be  a  collision"  between  the  two.  The  sooner 
the  better,  /  say.  Yes,  by  the  everlasting  jingo  !  I  should 
like  nothing  better  than  to  see  them  have  a  brush  with  the 
sneaks." 

"  The  sneaks  won't  fight,  eh  ? "  said  he  to  whom  so 
many  exhausted  fighters  had  failed  to  "  come  up." 

"  Not  they,"  said  his  companion,  contemptuously.  "  It 
seems  impossible  to  kick  them  into  the  slightest  display  of 
spirit." 

"  Why  don't  you  breathe  some  of  your  own  into  them  ?  " 
asked  Time,  with  a  suspicion  of  irony. 

"  I  have  tried,  and  it's  impossible.  They  are  quite 
insensible  to  my  influence.  Or,  rather,"  continued  Vicesi- 
mus with  a  little  confusion,  "  they  are  so  absolutely  subject 
to  the  influence  that  I  exercised  over  them  thirty  years  ago, 
that  it  is  quite  beyond  my  power  to  move  them  now.  I 
made  a  scientific  race  of  them  when  I  was  in  my  cradle, 
and  now  they  seem  hopelessly  incapable  of  imbibing  any 
of  the  adventurous  and  martial  spirit  that  I  am  diffusing 


THE  FOURTH  AGE.  65 

over  the  rest  of  mankind.  Well,  they  will  have  to  go 
under ;  that  is  all." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  hard  upon  them  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least.  Why  hard  ?  Serve  them  right  for  being 
behind  the  Age." 

"  But  you  are  the  Age,  and  it  was  you  from  whom,  as 
you  admit,  they  imbibed  the  scientific  spirit." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  moved  on,  and  so  must  they,  or  take 
the  consequences.  Indeed,  it  is  arguable  whether  I  am 
the  same  '  I '  that  I  was  thirty  years  ago.  The  question  of 
personal  identity — but  there !  you  must  have  a  finite  exist- 
ence like  my  own  to  be  able  to  understand  that  question. 
It  is  useless,"  he  added,  with  a  pitying  glance  at  Time,  "to 
attempt  to  explain  it  to  a  poor  devil  like  yourself,  whose 
whole  associations  are  with  the  Infinite.  Your  conscious- 
ness must  be  a  very  vague,  and  misty,  and  unsatisfactory 
sort  of  a  thing,  won  vieux.  However,  it  suits  you,  I  sup- 
pose, so  I  don't  know  why  /  should  bother  my  head  about 
it.  Meanwhile,  I  think  I  can  promise  you  some  amuse- 
ment in  a  year  or  two.  My  Soldiers  are  getting  morfe  and 
more  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel  every  day,  and  it  can't 
be  long  before  they  drag  those  wretched  Scientists  into  the 
field  by  their  very  noses." 

About  eighteen  months  after  this  conversation,  Time  and 
Vicesimus  stood  side  by  side  on  a  grassy  knoll  in  the  midst 
of  a  broad  champaign  in  Central  Europe.  The  latter  was 
equipped  with  a  powerful  field-glass,  and  seemed  in  very 
high  spirits. 

"  Here  they  come  at  last,"  he  exclaimed  excitedly,  after 
a  prolonged  survey  of  the  landscape  through  his  glass 

W.  L.-XV. 


66  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  That's  the  First  Army  Corps,  the  nearest  to  us  !  over  there, 
by  the  edge  of  the  wood  !  The  Second,  I  expect,  will  come 
in  sight  in  a  minute  or  two  in  that  direction,  about  seven 
miles  to  the  left." 

"  Where  is  the  Scientist  army  ?  "  asked  Time. 
"  Well,  if  you  can  call  the  wretched  thing  an  army  at  all, 
it  is,  I  believe,  about  twenty  miles  away  from  here,  behind 
that  distant  hill.  With  their  ridiculous  electric  batteries, 
and  their  absurd  flying  machines,  and  their  preposterous 
Army  Asphyxiator,  they  might  really  quite  as  well  have 
stayed  at  home." 

"They  wanted  to,  I  believe — didn't  they?  "  asked  Time, 
drily. 

"Very  much  indeed,"  repli'ed  Vicesimus.  "They  diplo- 
matised desperately  to  avoid  this  war — almost  begged  and 
prayed,  in  fact,  to  be  let  off  their  kicking.  It  was  only 
when  the  crisis  reached  its  acutest  stage  that  they  ventured 
upon  anything  like  a  threat :  and  then,  what  sort  of  a  threat 
was  it  ?  It  reminded  one  of  a  desperate  schoolboy  uttering 
dark  menaces  of  revenge  upon  his  masters,  which  he  means 
to  carry  out  by  laying  a  train,  with  sixpenn'orth  of  gun- 
powder, under  the  door  of  the  fives  court.  They  only 
vaguely  warned  their  enemy  that  they  had  been  studying 
the  application  of  science  to  war  with  great  assiduity  for 
many  years,  and  had  brought  the  art  of  destruction  to  so 

high  a  pitch  of There  they  are  !  " 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Time ;  "  the  Scientists  ?  " 

"The  Scientists!   Pooh!    No,  you  will  never  see  them. 

The  Second  Army  Corps,  there,  rounding  that  spur  of  the 

hill  between  the  river  and  that  patch  of  corn-land.     Gallant 

fellows  !  they  will  face  the  two  big  micro-smith erine  guns,  I 


THE  FOURT.H  AGE.  67 

warrant  you,  and  pluck  the  '  bubble  reputation '  out  of  their 
very  mouths.  Do  you  make  them  out  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Time ;  "  but,  somehow  or  other,  I  don't 
now." 

He  continued  to  gaze  through  the  field-glass  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then,  turning  to  his  companion,  he  observed  : 
"  It  seems  a  funny  thing  to  say,  Vicesimus,  but,  do  you 
know,  I  don't  think  there  is  any  Second  Army  Corps. 
Look  for  yourself;"  and  he  handed  the  field-glass  to  his 
companion. 

Vicesimus  surveyed  the  distant  landscape  through  it  long 
and  intently. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  said  at  last.  "  There  is  no 
Second  Army  Corps.  Or,  rather,  to  be  strictly  accurate," 
he  continued,  after  pursuing  his  investigations  a  little  longer, 
"there  is  no  longer  any  living  body  of  men  answering  to 
that  name.  But  if,"  handing  the  glass  back  again  to  Time, 
"  you  will  be  good  enough  to  examine  closely  the  spot  which 
was  just  now  covered  by  a  minute,  insect-like,  very  slowly 
moving  body,  you  will,  I  think,  find  its  place  filled  by  a  dark, 
motionless  mass  of  the  same  dimensions.  That,  I  take  it, 
is  what  remains  of  the  Second  Army  Corps." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Time,  after  a  short  study  of  the 
point  indicated.  "  And  how  do  you  explain  the " 

"  I  offer,"  said  Vicesimus,  "  the  conjectural  explanation 
that  the  electrical  machine  has  proved  more  successful  than 
I  anticipated.  I  suspect  that  the  Scientists  have  found 
means  of  communicating  to  the  Second  Army  Corps  a  life- 
destroying  shock  of  electricity.  But  now  let  us  turn  our 
attention  to  the  First  Army  Corps." 

This  fine  body  of  men  were  now  within  little  more  than 


68  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

half  a  mile  of  them,  and  the  sight  of  their  waving  banners, 
the  sound  of  their  martial  music,  and  the  glitter  of  the  sun 
on  their  arms  and  accoutrements,  had  a  most  exhilarating 
effect. 

"  Look  at  them  !  "  exclaimed  Vicesimus  with  enthusiasm. 
"  There  is  happiness  for  you,  if  you  like :  the  only  form  in 
which  man  can  really  know  it — the  happiness  which  derives 
from  life,  and  is  yet  independent  of  it,  nay,  finds  its 
chiefest  stimulus  and  sustainment  in  the  very  contempt  of 
life.  The  Soldier  is  the  only  human  being  who  has  ever 
seized  upon  the  philosophy  of  Stoic  and  Epicurean  alike,  and 
appropriated  to  himself  whatever  is  good  in  both — the  frank 
enjoyment  of  all  that  is  pleasurable  in  existence,  combined 
with  the  devotion  to  an  end  which  is  higher  than  existence. 
Look  at  those  gay  and  jubilant  thousands  who  are  marching 
past  us  a  few  furlongs  off.  There  is  not  one  of  those 
fellows  who  will  not  enjoy  his  camp-fire  carouse  this  evening 
with  a  heartiness  which  no  civilian  could  rival  or  even 
realise.  Yet  there  is  not  one  of  them  who,  if  he  heard  that 
there  were  to  be  no  more  camp-fire  carouses  for  him,  but 
that  to-night  there  would  begin  for  him  the  silent  bivouac 
of  eternity,  would  not  receive  the  tidings  with  joy,  if  only 
they  came  accompanied  with  the  promise  that  he  would  die 
in  the  achievement  of  some  heroic  and  famous  exploit,  with 
the  eyes  of  all  his  countrymen  upon  him  and  their  praises 
ringing  in  his  ears.  Ah,  the  'bubble  reputation'!  the 
'  bubble  reputation  ' !  How  true  it  is  that — 

"  Is  this  it  ?"  interrupted  Time. 

"Is  this  what?" 

"  The  '  bubble  reputation '  ?     Look  !  " 

As  he  spoke  a  species  of  bulla,  of  vast  dimensions,  but 


THE  FOURTH  AGE.  69 

propelled  in  some  invisible  fashion  at  a  pace  quite  twenty 
times  as  fast  as  a  balloon,  came  speeding  towards  the  First 
Army  Corps,  and  having  arrived  at  a  point  exactly  over 
them,  stopped  suddenly,  hovered  a  moment,  then  descended 
rapidly,  and  burst  noiselessly  in  their  midst.  Half  a  dozen 
of  the  nearest  regiments  fell  flat  on  their  faces  like  so  many 
packs  of  cards,  and  others  at  a  greater  distance  dropped 
their  arms  and  staggered  like  drunken  men. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  that  ?  "  asked  Time. 

"The  new  destructive  gas,  I  suppose,"  said  Vicesimus, 
a  little  disconcerted.  "The  Patent  Instantaneous  Army 
Asphyxiator.  I  heard  of  it  some  time  ago,  but  never 
thought  there  was  anything  in  it." 

"  In  that,"  said  Time,  surveying  the  prostrate  soldiery 
through  the  field-glass,  "  in  that  you  were  clearly  wrong. 
I  think  we  may  take  it  that  it  contains  some  gaseous  com- 
pound of  exceptionally  potent  properties.  But  here  is  a 
new  arrival !  What,  pray,  is  this  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  a  singular-looking  machine,  apparently  pro- 
pelled by  a  system  of  revolving  fans,  was  seen  rapidly 
approaching  through  the  air.  It  passed  completely  over 
the  army,  dropping  dynamite,  like  sand  from  a  balloon,  as 
it  swept  above  the  masses  of  advancing  men,  ploughing  a 
broad  furrow  through  them  as  it  went. 

"  That,  I  imagine,"  said  Time,  "  is  the  new  flying  machine 
that  you  spoke  of  with  so  much  contempt." 

"  New  !  "  said  Vicesimus,  with  some  ill-humour,  "  it  is  not 
new.  It  was  invented  in  Old  Seekleham's  days  by  a  man 
of  the  name  of  Edison  ;  but  it  has  never  been  used  before, 
and,  as  I  say,  I  never  believed  it  would  work.  However,  of 
course  if  it  will  work  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  a  handy 


70  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

machine  to  have  on  a  campaign,  because  you  can  start  it 
from  a  distance  of  fifty  miles." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Time  with  a  start,  as  a  terrible 
sound  struck  his  ear,  and  a  huge  projectile  came  shrieking 
through  the  air  towards  them. 

"  I  suspect,"  said  Vicesimus  with  deliberation,  "  that  it 
is  the  micro-smitherine  shell." 

"Indeed,"  said  Time,  "so  that  works  too,  then !  The 
Scientists  are  evidently  no  contemptible  foes." 

Before  Vicesimus  could  reply,  the  mighty  shell  came 
hurtling  through  the  air,  and  exploded  with  unerring  ac- 
curacy over  the  advancing  host,  laying  low  another  five 
hundred  men.  A  second  shell  followed,  and  a  third,  and 
then  a  second  visit  from  the  flying  machine,  and  then  another 
from  the  Patent  Army  Asphyxiator,  and  then  a  dozen  more 
of  the  explosive  projectiles,  each  alighting  with  the  same 
fatal  precision  on  its  mark  and  leaving  the  same  tale  of 
dead  behind  it. 

There  was  no  flinching  on  the  part  of  the  doomed 
soldiery.  They  plodded  steadily  on  with  dogged  deter- 
mination, but  without  a  spark  of  enthusiasm,  their  officers 
encouraging  them  from  time  to  time  with  the  assurance  that 
the  apparently  deadly  aim  of  the  enemy's  guns  was  more  a 
matter  of  luck  than  skill,  and  that  in  a  little  while  they 
would  find  his  fire  becoming  less  destructive. 

But  that  welcome  experience  was  not  destined  to  befall 
the  unhappy  men.  The  guns  continued  to  be  served  with 
the  same  destructive  effect,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour 
the  First  Army  Corps  was  annihilated. 

"  How  far  off  are  those  micro-smitherine  guns,  do  you 
suppose  ?  "  asked  Time.  "  Forty  thousand  yards  ?  " 


THE  FOURTH  AGE.  71 

"  At  least  that  distance,  as  well  as  I  can  calculate  !  "  was 
the  reply. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  other,  "  you  don't  have  so  far  to  go 
nowadays  then  to  seek  the  '  bubble  reputation.'  It  is  to  be 
found,  it  appears,  at  twenty  miles  from  the  cannon's  mouth. 
That  is  if  you  ever  get  it  at  all.  But  will  all  those  ,poor 
fellows — five  score  thousand  of  them — be  famous  for  ever  ? 
A  hundred  thousand  reputations.  It  seems  impossible. 
Glory  would  become  a  drug." 

"Time,"  said  Vicesimus  severely,  for  he  was  ill-pleased 
with  the  tone  of  his  companion,  "  let  us  return  home." 

They  bent  their  steps  homeward,  and  walked  on  side  by 
side  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"Yet  they  were  brave  fellows,"  said  Vicesimus,  auditxy 
pursuing  his  train  of  thought. 

"  Undoubtedly  !  "  assented  Time. 

"  Far  braver  in  marching  thus  steadily  against  an  invisible 
enemy  than  if  they  had  seen  him  face  to  face." 

"  Beyond  all  question." 

"  And  it  certainly  required  no  bravery  to  blow  them  up 
or  asphyxiate  them  from  a  distance  of  twenty  miles." 

"  None  whatever." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Vicesimue. 

"  Well !  "  said  Time. 

Again  they  walked  on  for  a  few  hundred  yards  without 
speaking. 

"  Time,"  said  Vicesimus  at  last,  "  you  have  had  consider- 
able experience  of  life,  and  I  have  often  heard  you  reason 
with  a  certain  shrewdness  from  observed  phenomena.  Tell 
me  candidly  what  lesson  you  think  is  to  be  drawn  from 
the  scene  you  have  just  witnessed." 


72  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  If  you  ask  my  candid  opinion,"  said  the  other,  "  the 
lesson  I  am  disposed  to  draw  is  this  :  that  there  is  now  no 
more  place  in  the  world  for  the  virtue  of  military  courage 
than  there  appears  to  be  aptitude  in  it  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  poetry." 

His  companion  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  few  moments, 
as  though  he  would  read  his  very  soul. 

"  I  am  beholden  to  you,"  said  he,  "  for  your  candour,  and 
will  be  equally  frank  with  you.  I  am  very  much  of  your 
opinion  on  that  matter." 


V. 
THE  FIFTH  AGE. 

"  And  then,  the  justice, 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined, 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full  of  wise  saws,  and  modern  instances  ; 
And  so  he  plays  his  part." 

THE  military  career  is  not,  of  course,  the  only  outlet 
for  the  physical  energies  of  the  human  race,  or  the 
only  form  of  fulfilment  which  man's  inward  impulse  to 
action  can  discover  for  itself.  But  it  is,  and  always  has 
been,  one  of  the  most  important;  and  at  the  particular 
period  at  which  it  ceased,  from  the  causes  detailed,  to 
supply  this  satisfaction,  there  were  few  other  resources  open 
to  the  man  of  active  and  adventurous  instincts.  Such 
were  scarcely  even  to  he  found  upon  that  home  of  adven- 
ture and  activity7 — the  sea.  All  the  ironclad  navies  of 
the  world  had  by  this  time  destroyed  each  other,  and 
maritime  warfare  had  consequently  fallen  into  disuse. 
Nearly  all  the  big  game  had  been  extirpated  before  the 
humanitarian  spirit  had  led  to  the  total  abandonment  of 
field  sports ;  and  Vicesimus  himself  had  had  the  honour 
of  capturing  the  last  polar  bear — by  kindness — at  the  foot 
of  the  structure  from  which  it  takes  its  name.  Central 
Africa  had  been  thoroughly  explored,  and  its  inhabitants 
civilised  with  remorseless  severity.  There  were  no  in- 


74  NUMBER   TWENT\. 

accessible  mountain  peaks  in  any  part  of  the  world,  and 
all  but  the  very  highest  were  served  by  well-appointed 
and  extensively  patronised  railways.  And  even  those 
which  could  not  be  ascended  in  this  way  were  so  abun- 
dantly supplied  with  ropes,  chains,  ladders,  huts,  automatic 
luncheon-pillars,  and  other  appliances  of  civilisation,  that 
there  ceased  to  be  any  merit  of  adventure  in  scaling 
them.  Yachting  in  bad  weather  remained  almost  the  only 
amusement  which  any  man  with  a  taste  for  excitement, 
and  a  delight  in  the  exercise  of  the  virtue  of  courage,  and  the 
faculties  of  vigilance  and  resource,  would  care  to  indulge 
in ;  and  for  many  years  Vicesimus  passed  part  of  his  life 
upon  the  sea.  On  land,  if  it  was  difficult  to  find  danger 
it  was  at  least  easy  to  get  activity ;  and  incessant  activity 
in  hard  physical  exercise  was  almost  as  good  an  anodyne 
as  danger  for  the  malady  of  thought.  Vicesimus,  in 
common  with  those  of  his  sons  who  took  after  their  father, 
applied  it  steadily  and  persistently  until  close  upon  his 
fiftieth  year. 

As  he  approached  that  age  he  felt  his  physical  energies 
unmistakably  slackening,  and  was  sensible  therewith  of  a 
growing  abatement  of  the  impulse  towards  their  exercise. 
But  he  felt  at  the  same  time,  and  not  a  little  to  his  surprise, 
that  a  new  contentment  had  been  born  within  him.  He 
looked  back  upon  the  phases  of  life  through  which  he  had 
passed,  upon  the  mental  habitudes  and  emotional  moods 
which  had  once  been  his,  with  the  astonished  perception 
that  he  understood  them  for  the  first  time.  His  severely 
scientific  boyhood,  his  passionate  and  poetic  youth,  were 
gone  for  ever;  he  would  never  again  think  the  thoughts  of 
the  former  period,  or  feel  with  the  feelings  of  the  latter ; 


THE  FIFTH  AGE.  75 

but  he  found,  to  his  astonishme.it  and  tranquil  pleasure, 
that  a  power  over  them  had  been  given  to  him  which  in  the 
days  when  those  thoughts  and  feelings  were  still  possible  to 
him  he  never  had  possessed.  His  detachment  from  them 
had  brought  him  this  compensation,  that  he  could  survey 
them  critically,  but  still  with  sympathy  and  appreciation, 
from  without.  Every  day  Vicesimus  became  calmer,  more 
comfortable,  more  optimistic.  His  relations  with  Time  once 
more  assumed  a  satisfactory  shape.  Vicesimus  found  his 
companionship  generally  agreeable,  and  his  pace  for  the 
most  part  accommodating.  There  was  no  longer  the  old 
necessity  for  either  entreating  him  to  go  slower,  or  for 
"  putting  him  along "  with  those  passionate  exhortations 
which  the  Western  American  addresses  to  his  mule. 

Somewhat,  too,  to  the  surprise  of  this  now  ripe  Middle 
Age,  his  love  of  poetry,  and  of  art  in  general,  not  only 
revived,  but  after  a  little  while  began  to  glow  again  with 
a  sort  of  mild  autumnal  radiance  in  his  breast.  It  had  not 
the  freshness  of  his  springtime  yearning,  nor  the  fierceness 
of  his  summer  passion,  but  it  was  none  the  less  sweet — nay, 
it  was,  perhaps,  almost  the  sweeter  to  him  for  that.  It 
might  have  been  a  mere  efi'ect  of  advancing  years,  and 
possibly  of  growing  intellectual  egotism ;  but  his  present 
mood  seemed  to  him  altogether  preferable  to  that  through 
which  he  had  passed  in  youth,  and  he  would  hardly  have  ex- 
changed his  placid,  full-orbed,  all-embracing  contemplation 
of  the  mental  image  of  his  once  adored  goddess,  even  for  a 
second  actual  vision  of  her  as  on  the  day  when  she  had 
unsealed  his  eyes. 

He  would  often  discuss  with  Time  this  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  himself ;  and  Time,  without  the  slightest 


76  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

hesitation,  appropriated  to  himself  the  entire  credit  of  it. 
Vicesimus  never  disputed  the  point  with  him,  being, 
indeed,  inclined  to  think  that  the  boast  was  on  the  whole 
justified. 

He  was  more  interested  than  ever  in  his  children,  or 
rather  the  children  of  his  infancy,  and  very  curious  to  see 
whether  the  course  of  their  mental  and  spiritual  growth 
had  been  the  same  as  his  own.  They  had  of  late  ceased 
to  influence  him  to  the  same  extent  as  formerly,  and  he 
was  afraid  that  the  experience  might  have  been  mutual. 
His  researches  on  this  point,  however,  led  to  results  which 
he  considered  very  satisfactory,  and  which  he  soon  felt  a 
strong  desire  to  communicate  to  his  companion. 

"Time,"  he  said  one  day,  "you  were  good  enough  to 
show  me  the  Typical  Baby.  I  should  like  to  return  the 
compliment  by  showing  you  the  Typical  Middle-Aged 
Man." 

Therewith  he  conducted  him  to  a  library,  somewhat 
resembling  that  in  which  they  had  heard  the  venerable 
Dramatist  read  his  Shakspearean  revisions  to  his  nephew, 
only  that  it  contained  a  good  many  more  books,  and  there 
were  no  busts  of  its  owner. 

"  There,"  said  Vicesimus,  pointing  with  some  pride  to  a 
figure  seated  at  the  writing  table ;  "  there  you  have  him ! 
That  is  the  Typical  Middle-Aged  Man." 

The  person  indicated  was  beyond  doubt  middle-aged, 
and  he  possessed  another  characteristic,  which,  if  not 
exactly  typical  of  the  middle-aged,  is  not  uncommon  among 
them.  That  portion  of  his  body  which  lay  below  the 
fourth  button  of  his  waistcoat  was  nobly  developed,  and 
had  it  been  a  torso  (instead  of  an  abdomen)  would  have 


THE  FIFTH  AGE.  77 

dangerously  challenged  the  supremacy  of  the  Farnese 
Hercules.  His  somewhat  formally-cut  beard  was  already 
streaked  with  grey,  and,  but  for  a  certain  touch  of  severity 
in  his  eye,  his  face  was  not  an  ungenial  one. 

A  vast  pile  of  volumes  lay  heaped  on  the  table  before 
him,  and  he  was  engaged  at  the  moment  in  passing  a  large 
paper-knife  between  the  leaves  of  one  after  another  of 
them,  and  drawing  the  instrument,  after  each  introduction 
and  withdrawal  of  it,  gently  under  his  nostrils. 

"  Oh  ! "  exclaimed  Time,  in  a  tone  of  slight  disappoint- 
ment, "  a  critic  !  So  that  is  your  Typical  Middle-Aged 
Man." 

"Yes,"  said  Vicesimus  complacently,  "it  is  said  that 
every  man  at  fifty  is  either  a  fool  or  a  physician.  The 
critic  is  the  physician  of  the  mental,  moral,  and  spiritual 
life,  and  every  man  whose  life-history  has  been  mentally, 
morally,  and  spiritually  a  healthy  one,  ought  by  that  age, 
if  he  is  not  a  fool,  to  be  a  fully  competent  judge  of  these 
various  sorts  of  health,  and  of  the  best  modes  of  preserving 
them  in  himself  and  others." 

"  He  seems  in  fair  bodily  health,"  said  Time ;  "  except, 
perhaps,  for  a  slight  tendency  to  corpulence." 

"  The  result  of  his  sedentary  habits,"  said  the  other. 

"  Yes,  and  of  a  diet  no  doubt  generous  as  his  criti- 
cisms." 

"  Possibly,"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  as  just,  also,  from  another 
point  of  view.  In  fact,  it  is  Shakspeare's  own  justice  :  '  In 
fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined.' " 

"  Chicken  and  champagne,"  muttered  Time,  too  low  to 
be  heard.  "  But  am  I  to  understand,"  he  continued,  in  a 
louder  tone,  "  that  every  middle-aged  man  is  a  critic  ?  " 


78  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Of  life,  yes  !  "  replied  Vicesimus ;  "  and  for  the  reasons 
I  have  just  given  you.  As  to  literature,  that,  of  course, 
depends  upon  circumstances." 

"  Upon  what  circumstances  ?  " 

"  Well,  upon  the  circumstance  of  his  having  literary 
tastes." 

"  And  I  suppose  upon  his  possessing,  or  thinking  he 
possesses,  the  critical  faculty — the  capacity  of  judging  what 
is  good  or  bad  in  letters  ?  " 

"  Yes,  upon  his  thinking  so ;  that  is  all.  If  he  thinks 
himself  a  literary  critic,  he  is  one." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  inquired  Time. 

"Because,  to  be  mistaken  on  such  a  point,  he  would 
have  to  be  an  incompetent  critic  of  life  and  human  nature, 
as  personified  in  himself.  And  this,  I  have  already  said, 
it  is  impossible  for  the  Middle-Aged  Man  to  be." 

"  I  see  !  "  said  Time.  Then,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
he  added,  "  You  mean  always  supposing  him  not  to  be  a 
Middle- Aged  Ass  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Vicesimus  ;  "  always  supposing  him 
not  to  be  a  Middle-Aged  Ass." 

"  Let  us  sum  up  a  little,"  continued  the  other.  "  Your 
position,  as  I  understand  it,  is  this  :  that  any  man  of  good 
intelligence " 

"  And  who  trains  it  properly ! "  interjected  his  com- 
panion. 

"  And  who  trains  it  properly,  will  by  the  time  he  attains 
middle-age  have  become  a  competent  critic  of  life ;  and 
therefore,  also — if  in  his  mature  judgment  he  believes  him- 
self to  be  such — a  competent  critic  of  literature." 

"That  "  said  Vicesimus,  "  is  exactly  my  position," 


THE  FIFTH  AGE.  79 

"  It  appears  impregnable,"  said  Time,  in  a  musing  tone. 
"  My  only  difficulty  in  connection  with  it  is  to  know  where 
the  incompetent  critics  come  from." 

"  I  see  no  difficulty,"  was  the  reply.  "  They  consist 
entirely  of  young  men  whose  judgments  are  not  yet 
matured,  and  of  middle-aged  men  whose  intelligence  is 
either  not  good,  or  who  have  not  properly  trained  it.  It 
is  from  these  two  classes  that  the  incompetent  critics  are 
drawn  ;  or,  at  least,  from  these  and  one  other." 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  The  reviewers  of  books,"  said  Vicesimus.  "  I  must 
admit  that  they  supply  a  certain  contingent — indeed,  per- 
haps, the  majority — of  incompetent  critics  ;  and  it  will  not 
do,  therefore,  to  leave  them  completely  out  of  account. 
But  enough  of  literary  criticism,  to  which  you  seem  to 
attach  extraordinary  importance,  though  literature  is  surely 
only  a  fragment,  and  not  a  very  important  fragment,  of 
human  life.  To  be  a  judge  of  men  and  women  is  a  far 
greater  thing  than  to  be  a  judge  of  books.1' 

"  Yes,"  said  Time,  drily,  "  you  have  explained,  and  at 
some  length,  that  it  is  the  greater  which  includes  the  less. 
But  then  the  less  happens  to  be  the  easier  art  to  practise. 
I  should  imagine  that  any  literary  critic,  furnished  with  a 
certain  equipment  of  fixed  principles — the  '  wise  saws '  of 
his  art — and  possessing  a  fair  acquaintance  with  modern 
instances  of  their  application,  could  play  his  part  creditably 
enough.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  No  doubt !  no  doubt !  "  replied  Vicesimus,  somewhat 
absently,  for  his  thoughts  had  wandered  away  from  literature 
to  life.  "  lint,"  added  he,  recovering  himself,  "  it  is  absurd 
to  appeal  to  me  to  confirm  you  on  such  a  point ;  you,  the 


8o  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

greatest  critic — nay,  the  one  unerring  critic — of  literature  in 
the  world." 

Time  did  not  reject  the  compliment,  but  he  was  unable 
to  acknowledge  it,  for  his  companion  had  again  relapsed 
into  reverie,  and  was  evidently  unconscious  of  his  existence. 

Thus  then  had  commenced  the  period  which  Vicesimus, 
studying  it  in  the  persons  of  his  middle-aged  children,  and 
feeling  it  with  their  feelings,  recognised  both  during  its 
course  and,  with  still  more  clearness,  at  its  close,  as  the 
happiest  of  his  life.  It  was  not  of  many  years'  duration ;  it 
was,  indeed,  the  shortest  of  all  the  stages,  with  perhaps  the 
single  exception  of  infancy,  into  which  that  life  had  been 
divided :  shorter  than  his  restless  boyhood,  shorter  than 
his  dreamy  and  romantic  youth,  shorter  far  than  his  active 
and  adventurous  prime. 

He  enjoyed  it — not  keenly,  it  is  true ;  but  calmly,  amply, 
equably,  without  fluctuation  of  spirits  or  reactions  of  mood. 

Nor  was  it  till  afterwards  that  he  discovered  it  to  have 
been  founded  on  illusion,  and  learned  that,  critic  of  life  and 
human  nature  as  he  fancied  himself,  he  had  started  from  a 
fundamental  misconception  of  his  real  attitude  towards  the 
world  around  him — a  radical  error  in  the  interpretation  of 
his  own  moral  and  mental  state. 

He  had  fancied  that  his  happiness  arose  from  purely 
spiritual  sources ;  that  it  was  that  of  the  philosopher  who 
had  outgrown  the  dominion  of  the  passions,  and  had  found 
perfect  contentment  in  contemplation. 

He  had  yet-to  learn  how  large  a  part  of  that  contentment 
still  depended  upon  material  conditions  which  were  year  by 
year  undergoing  insensible  transformation ;  how  much  of 


THE  FIFTH  AGE.  81 

it  was  derived  from  the  very  survival  of  those  physical 
appetites  which  he  had  fancied  extinct,  but  which,  though 
they  had  ceased  to  tyrannise  over  life,  remained  to  give  it 
warmth  and  colour,  and  variety  and  animation. 

In  a  word,  he  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  happiness  he  had 
experienced  did  not  hail,  as  he  imagined,  from  the  Porch  of 
Zeno,  but  from  the  Garden  of  Epicurus  ;  that  it  was  not  due 
to  the  conquest  of  the  material  by  the  spiritual  part  of 
him,  but  to  a  perfect,  if  temporary,  balance  of  the  two.  He 
was  to  discover  that  the  declining  powers  of  the  body,  and 
the  still  strengthening  faculties  of  the  intellect,  had  reached 
— the  former  in  their  descent,  the  latter  in  their  ascent — the 
same  level,  and  that  it  was  from  the  transitory  realisation  of 
his  whole  being,  on  its  physical  and  intellectual  side  alike, 
that  he  derived  that  strange  satisfaction,  falsely  supposed 
by  him  to  be  philosophical,  which  had  filled  the  too  brief 
period  of  his  middle  age. 

With  his  children,  this  was  at  longest  but  a  matter  of  a 
few  years,  and  it  might  be  abridged  by  one  or  other  of  two 
causes.  With  some  of  them,  the  passions  took  so  long  to 
abate  into  mere  appetites  that  old  age  overtook  them  before 
that  abatement  was  accomplished  ;  and  they  even,  in  certain 
cases,  remained  the  foolish  slaves  of  their  youthful  lusts  to 
the  day  of  their  deaths.  With  others,  the  disappearance  of 
the  appetites  themselves  after  their  succession  to  the  pas- 
sions was  abnormally  rapid.  But,  even  in  the  happiest 
cases  of  all,  a  short  decade  saw  the  period  out  from 
beginning  to  end. 

It  lasted  longer  with  Vicesimus,  in  right  of  the  hundred 
years  of  life  which  he  was  destined  to  achieve.  The 

melancholy   hour  which    sounded   for  all   of  them    before 
ir.  L.    \r. 


82  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

their  sixtieth  year,  was  for  him  delayed  till  close  upon  his 
seventieth. 

But  it  struck  at  last,  and,  with  the  same  clearness  with 
which  the  same  sad  conviction  had  been  carried  home  to 
his  children,  it  was  borne  in  upon  Vicesimus  that  he  had 
grown  old. 


VI. 
THE  SIXTH  AGE. 

"  The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon, 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side  ; 
His  youthful  hose  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank  ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound." 

MANY  people  are  so  heartless  or  so  thoughtless — for 
no  doubt  this  is  one  of  those  evils  which  are  more 
often  wrought  by  want  of  thought  than  want  of  heart — that 
it  never  occurs  to  them  to  consider  how  a  Century  may 
suffer  as  it  grows  old.  To  them,  for  all  the  freedom  with 
which  they  personify  it,  it  is  a  mere  abstraction.  They  talk 
of  the  spirit  of  the  Age,  and  the  wants  of  the  Age,  and  the 
conquests  of  the  Age,  and  the  weaknesses  of  the  Age,  yet 
without  any  apparent  consciousness  that  they  are  speaking 
of  a  real  entity,  or  using  anything  more  than  a  convenient 
form  of  words  to  express  the  sum  of  the  human  beings  on 
the  earth  at  any  given  moment.  So  feeble  is  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  average  man  that  he  can  hardly  be  expected  to 
realise  a  Century  to  himself  as  "  a  pantaloon  "  or  as  "  lean 
and  slippered."  To  represent  it  to  the  mind  with  spectacles 
on  its  nose,  a  pouch  at  its  side,  and  its  legs  clothed  in 
an  unbecomingly  loose  pair  of  trousers,  would  strike  him 

83 


84  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

probably  as  a  daring  flight  of  anthropomorphism,  from  which 
he  would  shrink  back  in  alarm. 

"This  description,"  he  would  say,  "may  apply  very  well 
to  the  children  of  Vicesimus  born  immediately  after  his 
own  birth.  They,  of  course,  have  by  this  time  become  old. 
Their  eyesight  is  failing,  their  legs  are  possibly  wasting,  their 
voices  may  be  beginning  to  show  signs  of  age,  but  to  attri- 
bute these  material  and  physical  changes  to  a  Century  is  to 
talk  nonsense." 

And  so,  of  course,  it  would  be  but  for  the  divine  grace 
of  Allegory,  which  (except  for  those  lost  souls  who  be- 
lieve that  it  is  itself  nonsensical)  has  been  the  salvation 
of  some  of  the  most  apparently  reprobate  nonsense  in  the 
world. 

Vicesimus,  of  course,  needed  no  explanations  on  the 
subject.  He  knew  that  the  slippers,  and  the  spectacles,  and 
the  well  sav'd  youthful  hose  which  distinguished  the  out- 
ward guise  of  his  aged  children,  were  in  his  case  only 
figures  of  speech ;  but  none  the  less  keenly  on  that  account 
did  he  feel  and  display  those  mental  and  moral  characteristics 
of  senility  which  they  typified. 

In  these  days  he  dwelt  much  with  Time  in  imagina- 
tion, yet  little  with  him  in  fact.  He  cared  scarce  anything 
for  him  when  present,  but  was  eager  to  recall  him  when  he 
had  passed.  Still  there  were  many  colloquies  between  them, 
and  in  all  of  them  the  rapid  senescence  of  Vicesimus  was 
painfully  apparent  to  his  companion. 

His  spirits,  to  begin  with,  were  extraordinarily  unequal.  At 
one  moment  he  would  indulge  in  a  burst  of  triumphant 
prophecy  for  the  future  of  the  human  race,  at  another  he 
would  give  himself  over  to  the  gloomiest  forebodings  on  the 


THE  SIXTH  AGE.  85 

same  subject,  or  liberate  his  soul  in  the  bitterest  sarcasms  on 
mankind. 

"Time,"  he  exclaimed,  in  one  of  the  former  moods, 
"  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  world  like  science." 

"  Yes  !  *  said  Time,  indifferently,  for  he  was  accustomed 
to  hear  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  like  so  many 
other  things  that  he  was  not  particularly  impressed  by  this 
assignment  of  supremacy  to  one  of  them. 

"  It  was  a  sound  principle,  sir,  on  which  I  brought  up 
my  boys — a  sound  principle.  I  ought  to  have  stuck  to  it. 
There  is  no  knowing  what  point  of  advancement  we  might 
have  reached  by  now." 

"  Ah  !  that  was  what  the  departed  Seekleham  used  to  say 
when  he  was  about  your  age,"  remarked  Time,  drily ;  "  but 
he  outgrew  it  before  he  expired." 

"  I  daresay  !  "  said  Vicesimus,  with  a  touch  of  contempt ; 
"  but  he  fell  into  a  state  of  second  childhood  before  the 

end.  Whereas  I "  and  the  unfinished  sentence  spoke 

volumes  of  doting  self-complacency. 

"  He  was  thought  to  have  distinguished  himself  in  science, 
however,"  said  the  other. 

"  No  doubt !  no  doubt !  "  was  the  reply.  rt  Or  at  least 
in  what  was  accounted  science  in  that  day  :  a  day  in  which 
electricity — think  of  that !  electricity — was  actually  the  most 
potent  force  known  ;  when  epidemics  existed  and  people 
died— literally  died  of  them ;  and  when  it  was  positively 
regarded  as  a  wonderful  thing  to  be  able  to  travel  at — ha ! 
ha  !  it  is  unfilial  to  laugh,  but  one  really  can't  help  it — at 
sixty  miles  an  hour.  Besides,  it  is  not  the  application  of 
science  to  material  progress  that  I  am  thinking  of.  You 
should  know  that  well  enough." 


86  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Oh  !  I  should  know  that  well  enough,  should  I?"  said 
Time,  a  little  sulkily.  "  Well,  I  don't  then  !  On  the  con- 
trary, I  haven't  a  notion  what  you're  driving  at." 

"  You  do  yourself  injustice,"  answered  Vicesimus.  "  You 
are  not  so  slow  as  all  that.  You  must  have  known  per- 
fectly well,  or  you  would  have  known  if  you  had  devoted 
the  smallest  amount  of  yourself  to  reflection  upon  my 
meaning,  that  the  kind  of  progress  of  which  I  was  thinking 
was  progress  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  kind." 

"  Ah,"  said  Time,  "  perhaps  I  should  have  guessed  that. 
Yes,  that  is  indeed  a  different  matter." 

"What  was  it  disgusted  that  very  respectable  Age,  the 
late  lamented  Seekleham,  with  his  scientific  gains  ?  Why, 
was  it  not  the  very  fact  that  they  were  purely  material,  and 
that  when  he  had  accumulated  what  he  thought  a  vast 
amount — and  what  no  doubt  was  a  considerable  quantity — 
of  them,  he  found  that  they  had  not  advanced  him  morally 
and  spiritually  by  a  single  step.  Tell  me,  was  not  that  the 
cause  of  his  discontent  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer  to  this,  and  after  a  pause  the 
question  was  repeated. 

"  My  dear  Vicesimus,"  then  said  Time,  kindly  enough, 
but  with  much  firmness,  "  I  must  really  beg  of  you  to  ask 
me  another." 

"  Another  what  ?  " 

"  Another  conundrum  !  I  could  not  undertake  to  answer 
the  one  you  have  just  asked  me  about  the  cause  of  the  de- 
parted Seekleham's  discontent.  The  explanations  given  of 
it,  both  by  himself  and  his  children,  were  so  infinitely  various. 
The  only  point  on  which  they  agreed  was  that  it  was 
'  divine. ' " 


THE  SIXTH  AGE.  87 

"  A  divine  discontent !"  repeated  Vicesimus.  "  Yes,  I  have 
heard  the  expression.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  of  course  there 
was  nothing  divine  about  it  at  all,  any  more  than  there  is  any 
divinity  about  the  dissatisfaction  of  a  traveller  who  finds 
that  he  has  taken  a  wrong  turning  at  the  last  cross-roads. 
It  was  not  Science  that  was  to  blame  for  the  unsatisfying 
results  of  progress  in  the  last  Age ;  it  was  the  men  who 
systematically  applied  science  to  the  physical  and  material 
instead  of  to  the  moral  and  spiritual  needs  of  man.  It  was 
the  habit  of  ....  Are  you  favouring  me  with  your 
attention  ?  " 

"  I  am  listening  with  the  utmost  possible  interest,"  replied 
Time,  whose  eye  had  certainly  seemed  to  be  wandering,  but 
who  now  fixed  an  attentive  gaze  upon  his  companion,  and 
maintained  its  meditative  expression  by  reflecting  how  inva- 
riable a  sign  is  garrulity  of  advancing  years. 

"  I  say,"  resumed  Vicesimus,  "  that  they  had  themselves 
to  blame  for  the  state  of  things  which  inspired  them  with 
this  precious  '  divine  discontent '  of  theirs.  They  first 
expended  all  their  energies  and  scientific  resources  on 
developing  and  perfecting  what  they  called  the  '  arts  of  life ; ' 
and  then,  after  having  systematically  neglected  the  art  of 
living,  they  were  astonished,  forsooth,  to  discover  that  their 
developed  and  perfected  arts  of  life  had  made  them  no 
better,  or  wiser,  or  happier  than  they  had  been  before.  I 
understand  that  they  took  to  asking  themselves,  what  was  the 
good  of  being  able  to  get  more  rapidly  from  one  place  to 
another,  when  you  found  yourself  the  same  poor  creature 
after  your  journey  as  before  ?  Or  of  finding  the  means  of 
communicating  instantaneously,  at  thousands  of  miles'  dis- 
tance, with  any  number  of  other  creatures  as  poor  as  yourself? 


88  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

Or  of  providing  brighter  lights,  and  more  luxurious  houses, 
and  more  exciting  amusements  for  the  entire  race  of  poor 
creatures,  if  all  you  did  thereby  was  to  make  them  forget 
for  brief  intervals  how  contemptible  they  still  remained,  and 
to  prepare  for  them  the  deeper  reaction  of  self-scorn  on 
every  awakening  from  temporary  self-oblivion  ?  But  they 
should  first  have  asked  themselves  what  was  the  use  of 
accumulating  all  these  gains  of  so-called  progress,  when  one- 
half  of  the  energy  of  one-half  of  civilised  humanity  had  to 
be  expended  on  the  work  of  protecting  these  gains  from 
destruction — along  with  those  who  had  amassed  them — by 
the  other  half?  It  must  have  been  plain  to  a  child,  and 
should  have  been  plain  even  to  the  late  lamented  Seekleham 
in  his  second  childhood,  that  no  true  advance  was  possible 
until  science  had  abolished  war." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Time,  unable  to  refrain  from  some  slight 
indication  of  the  fact  that  he  at  least  retained  his  memory, 
and  that  he  had  not  altogether  forgotten  the  history  of  a 
certain  period  in  the  career  of  Vicesimus,  when  he  was  not 
so  ready  in  his  recognition  of  the  fact  that  science  had 
abolished  war. 

But  the  other  pursued  his  discourse  without  the  slightest 
apparent  consciousness  of  any  inconsistency  between  his 
present  and  his  former  self. 

"  Ay  ! "  he  continued.  "  It  might  have  been  clear  to  the 
meanest  intelligence  that  civilised  man  must  emerge  from 
the  state  of  warfare  in  order  to  apply  himself  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  moral  and  spiritual  needs,  just  as  savage  man  had 
by  social  combination  to  obtain  a  respite  from  the  primeval 
conflict  in  order  to  have  leisure  and  acquire  ability  to 
develop  the  arts  of  life.  But,  that  emergence  effected,  what 


THE  SIXTH  AGE.  89 

might  not  have  been  done  ?  What  might  not  I  have  done 
if,  instead  of  being  lured  away  to  the  pursuit  of  shadows  in 
my  early  days,  I  had  resolutely  dedicated  myself  to  scientific 
progress  along  the  proper  lines  ?  Along  the  proper  lines  !  " 
he  repeated  with  emphasis,  looking  fixedly  at  his  com- 
panion. 

"And  which  are — ?"  said  Time,  absently. 

"And  which,"  repeated  Vicesimus,  severely,  "you  would 
be  able  to  indicate  for  yourself  if  you  had  been  honouring 
me  with  your  attention.  On  the  lines  of  a  strictly  scientific 
analysis  of  human  nature,  of  a  reasoned  and  dispassionate 
psychology,  to  be  followed  by  the  uniform  and  methodised 
training,  in  accordance  with  the  soundest  scientific  conclu- 
sions, of  the  human  will." 

"  Which,  by  this  time,"  muttered  the  other,  "  he  would 
have  discovered  to  have  no  existence  at  all." 

"  By  this  means,"  continued  Vicesimus,  "  man  would  at 
last  have  attained  to  self-knowledge  and  self-mastery.  And 
then !  And  then— 

And  here  the  declining  Age  would  launch  out  into  a 
philosophical  fantasia  on  the  doctrine  of  human  perfecti- 
bility, full  of  the  longest  words  imaginable,  and  compact 
of  phrases  possessing  all  the  nobly  resonant  vacuity  of 
the  drum. 

And  Time  would  sit  and  listen  with  a  smile  of  half 
ironical  compassion  on  his  wrinkled  face.  He  had  seen 
the  whole  sad  performance  many  times  before,  and  he 
could  not  but  feel  ho\v  much  sadder  it  was  with  an  old 
performer  than  with  a  young  one. 

All  the  inflated  hopes,  all  the  swelling  ambitions  of 
boyhood,  thus  brought  forth  again  to  adorn  the  thought 


90  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

and   spirit   of    decrepitude  with    the  ghastly   mockery   of 
youth  ! 

" '  His  youthful  hose,' "  Time  would  murmur  to  himself,  at 
moments, 

"  His  youthful  hose  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shanks  1 " 

How  the  loose  generalisations  of  the  immature  observer 
bagged  and  flapped  around  those  miserably  slender  supports 
which  were  all  that  advancing  years  and  bitter  experience 
had  left  for  them  ! 

And  yet  with  what  dotard  vanity  did  the  senile  spirit  of 
Vicesimus  prank  itself  in  these  youthful  lendings,  and  strut 
to  and  fro  in  them  in  a  paroxysm  of  self-admiration  ! 

It  was  a  piteous  sight,  as  Time  was  forced  to  confess 
to  himself.  There  was  something  very  painful  to  him  in 
this  decrepit  optimism,  this  rouging  and  powdering  of 
the  withered  cheek  of  thought,  in  a  tragic,  yet  ridiculous, 
attempt  to  simulate  the  young  flush  of  hope  and  the  candid 
innocence  of  early  faith. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  question  whether  the  reaction  to 
pessimism,  which  invariably  followed  these  exaggerated 
optimistic  fits,  was  not  the  more  unpleasant  spectacle 
of  the  two.  They  usually  announced  themselves  in 
the  same  uniform  fashion.  Vicesimus's  talk  would  by 
degrees  grow  less  and  less  scientific,  and  although  his 
vocabulary  remained  as  copious  as  ever,  the  number  of 
its  polysyllabic  substantives  began  to  diminish,  and  that 
of  its  adjectives  to  multiply  in  proportion.  Then  gradually 
the  matter  of  his  speech  would  begin  to  change,  as  well 
as  its  form.  Cynical  observations  upon  life  would  intrude 


THE  SIXTH  AGE.  91 

themselves  into  scientific  disquisitions  on  the  future  of 
humanity,  and  in  course  of  time  would  actually  tend  to 
preponderate ;  until  at  last  a  discourse  which  had  ostensibly 
started  from  the  theory  of  human  perfectibility,  and  the 
proposition  that  the  sum  of  human  happiness  was  capable 
of  absolutely  indefinite  increase,  would  end  in  a  bitter  tirade 
against  man  and  Nature,  and  a  passionate  affirmation 
of  all  the  worst  reproaches  that  had  ever  been  launched 
against  cither  by  the  sternest  of  their  censors,  from  Swift 
to  Schopenhauer. 

This,  however,  was  only  a  passing,  because  a  too  ex- 
hausting mood.  Vicesimus  never  long  abode  in  it,  and 
the  key  of  his  pessimism  soon  modulated  from  the  D  major 
— the  big  big  U — of  denunciation  to  the  B  minor  of  melan- 
choly. 

"  Time,"  he  would  suddenly  say,  when  this  stage  was 
reached,  "  I  am  a  prey  to  a  divine  despair." 

Time,  who  knew  by  experience  what  this  meant,  would 
compose  himself  with  a  sigh,  which  might  or  might  not  be 
one  of  eager  expectation,  to  listen. 

"  Well  1 "  he  would  say,  "  what  is  it  ?     A  sonnet  ?  " 

And  usually  it  would  be  a  sonnet — very  artistically 
wrought,  and  framed  in  the  strictest  conformity  with  the 
rules  of  the  game.  Vicesimus  took  pains  to  point  out  its 
technical  perfection  ;  and  his  disquisitions  on  the  various 
forms  of  the  measure,  and  of  the  laws  which  should  govern 
the  construction  of  the  octave  and  sestett,  appeared  at 
times  to  afford  considerable  solace  to  his  divine  despair. 

Sometimes  it  was  in  an  irregular  ode  that  he  con- 
veyed his  god-like  dissatisfaction  with  the  scheme  of 
things;  but  whether  it  were  ode  or  sonnet,  or  what  not 


92  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

other  lyrical  form,  Vicesimus  was  always  eager  for  a 
listener ;  although  it  was  with  a  certain  condescension 
that  he  entertained  the  ear  of  Time  with  strains  which 
he  considered,  and  even  declared,  to  be  destined  for 
Eternity.  And  Time  sat  listening  to  them,  as  he  had 
listened  to  their  like  through  countless  ages.  He  knew 
them  well,  these  querulous  wailings  of  a  parting  spirit 
which  believes  itself  immortal  and  is  not, — so  different,  so 
pathetically  different  from  that  large,  unconscious,  joyous, 
everlastingly  echoing  song  which  twice  or  thrice  in  human 
history  an  Age  had  poured  into  his  ears. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? "  asked  Vicesimus,  after 
reciting  a  piece  of  which  he  was  particularly  proud ;  and  he 
awaited  the  answer  with  obvious  anxiety,  for  although,  as 
has  been  said,  he  sang  for  Eternity,  he  was  always  keenly 
desirous  of  the  appreciation  of  Time. 

"  It  is  remarkably  melodious,"  was  the  guarded  reply. 

"  Melodious  ! "  said  the  other,  impatiently.  "  Yes,  of  course 
it's  melodious.  I  know  that.  But  has  it  the  true  ring  about 
it  ?  Will  it  reach  the  ear  of  posterity,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Time,  with  the  same  diplomatic  caution,  "  it 
is  very  piercing  and  penetrating,  and  so  forth ;  and  that,  I 
believe,  is  the  kind  of  note  which  is  supposed  to  carry 
furthest." 

"  No  doubt !  "  replied  Vicesimus  ;  "  but  that  in  itself  is 
hardly  satisfactory,  is  it  ?  It  would  be  true  of  a  screech, 
you  know,  and  I  shouldn't  like  it  to  go  down  to  posterity  as 
a  screech.  I  had  almost  rather  it  were  inaudible  altogether ; 
in  fact,  it  would  be  clearly  better  to  be  inaudible  altogether, 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

The  question  was  a  difficult  one  to  answer,  and  Time 


THE  SIXTH  AGE.  93 

therefore  thought  it  advisable  to  take  no  notice  of  it.  A 
short  silence  ensued,  and  then  Vicesimus  repeated  the  last 
movement  over  again,  with  a  few  additional  flourishes. 

"  You  don't  consider  it  a  screech,  do  you  ? "  he  asked 
uneasily,  after  a  few  moments  of  vain  waiting  for  some 
criticism  from  his  companion. 

"  Well,"  said  Time,  with  some  hesitation,  "  it  is  a  little 
high,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  High  ! "  exclaimed  Vicesimus,  in  a  tone  of  grave  dis- 
pleasure. "  High  !  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean. 
Explain  yourself." 

"  It's  a  little  thin,  too,  isn't  it  ?  I  mean,  your  voice  seems 
to  '  pipe '  a  bit ;  that's  all.  It  has,  if  I  may  SQ  describe  it,  a 
sort  of  whistle  in  its  sound." 

"  Pipes  ?  Whistles  ?  I  never  heard  a  more  amazing 
criticism  in  my  life.  Now,  /  should  have  said  that  the 
fault  of  my  singing,  if  indeed  it  has  a  fault,  is  of  an  exactly 
opposite  description.  I  should  have  thought  that  it  was 
rather  too  big  and  manly  a  voice  for  an  Age  which  you 
would  expect  to  be  getting  a  little — at  least  if  there  is  any- 
thing in  what  one  hears — a  little  shrill  in  its  tones." 

Time,  who  thought  he  had  never  heard  so  perfect  an 
imitation  of  a  childish  treble  in  his  life,  remained  discreetly 
mute;  and  Vicesimus,  after  a  while,  resumed  singing  with 
much  of  his  former  complacency. 

The  venerable  and  unerring  critic  had  accurately  de- 
scribed Vicesimus's  voice.  It  was  melodious,  it  was 
piercing,  it  was  penetrating,  at  least  so  far  as  the  ears  were 
concerned  ;  but  it  was  undoubtedly  thin.  With  his  execution 
there  was  not  much  amiss ;  indeed,  it  was  noticeably 
superior  to  what  it  had  been  during  the  brief  period  of 


94  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

his  poetic  or  pseudo-poetic  youth.  Even  Time  was 
obliged  to  confess  that !  He  had  a  vivid  recollection  of 
Vicesimus's  extremely  poor  performances  at  that  age — 
of  his  harsh  and  rough  methods  of  "  voice  production,"  of 
his  clumsy  attempts  at  decorative  effect,  and  of  his  often 
ludicrous  "  forcing  of  the  note  "  of  passion.  The  venerable 
and  unerring  critic  could  not  possibly  have  been,  and  was 
not,  blind  to  these  grave  artistic  faults  of  the  earlier 
singer. 

But — after  all  ? 

Well,  after  all,  he  had  to  confess  to  himself  that  the 
voice  of  those  days  was  af  least  the  voice  of  youth,  and 
health,  and  hope,  and  sincerity  ;  while  this ! 

Not  all  its  sweetness  could  make  the  hearer  forget  the 
shivering  thinness  of  its  wire-drawn  note.  Gaiety  the 
singer  never  attempted ;  but  even  his  melancholy  had 
nothing  of  the  genuine,  if  transient,  anguish  that  had 
sounded  through  the  Byronic  lamentations  of  his  youth.  His 
very  cries  of  agony  had  a  certain  ring  of  the  unreal :  even 
his  desperation  was  more  than  half  a  pose. 

On  the  whole  Time  felt  glad  that  the  scene  was  drawing 
to  an  end,  that  the  singing-voice  was  becoming  weaker,  and 
the  lungs  of  the  preacher  less  long-winded  ;  that  the  weary 
alternations  between  pessimist  poetisings  and  optimist 
prosings  were  beginning  to  recur  less  frequently  ;  that  not 
only  did  the  monotonous  tides  of  mood  take  longer  to 
complete  themselves,  but  ebb  and  flood  were  separated  by 
wider  interspaces  of  stagnation,  a  longer  slack-water  of 
lethargic  calm. 

By  degrees    Vicesimus    ceased   both   from   railing    and 


THE  SIXTH  AGE.  95 

rejoicing  at  the  scheme  of  things ;  and  then  from  talking  of 
its  good  and  evil ;  and  then  from  feeling  them  ;  and  last 
of  all  from  thinking  of  them,  or  of  anything,  except  at  fitful 
intervals  and  for  brief  and  broken  periods. 

His  strange  eventful  history  was  very  near  its  end. 


VII. 
THE  SEVENTH  AGE. 

' '  Last  scene  of  all, 

That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion  ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  everything." 

A  CENTURY  has  not  many  advantages  over  a  centen- 
arian, but  it  has  some.  It  expires  figuratively  only, 
and  not  literally,  and  neither  the  physical  pains  and  priva- 
tions which  attend  extreme  old  age,  nor  the  shock  which 
accompanies  dissolution,  can  of  course  be  attributed  to  it, 
save  in  metaphor.  Nevertheless,  it  must  have  been  seen, 
from  the  history  of  the  Sixth  Age  of  Vicesimus,  that  the 
moral  sufferings  of  a  Senescent  Century  may  be  very  acute 
indeed.  The  shrinking  of  its  limbs  of  Will  and  Energy 
within  the  "  well-saved  "  intellectual  garments  of  its  youth, 
is  a  sufficiently  painful  mixture  of  the  pathetic  and  the 
grotesque ;  and  its  attempts  to  mimic  in  the  thin  treble  of 
its  poetry  the  rich  and  full-voiced  strains  of  its  earlier  days 
are  sad — and  absurd — enough  to  move  either  to  laughter  or 
to  tears.  Not  even  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon  of 
actual  life  is  in  his  physical  decrepitude  more  provocative 
of  cither  emotion. 

And,  mutatis  mutandis,  the  same  remark  holds  good  of 
Vicesimus  in  his  Seventh  Age.  The  absolute  sensorial 
nullity  of  the  condition  to  which  his  coeval  children  had 


THE  SEVENTH  AGE.  97 

;it  that  stage  declined,  was  spiritually  reproduced  with   a 
melancholy  fidelity  in  Vicesimus  himself. 

He  was  sans  teeth,  as  they  were  ;  for  the  instincts  of 
appetite  and  combat  had  alike  disappeared.  There  was 
nothing  that  he  longed  for  any  more,  and  there  was  nothing 
that  he  would  have  fought  for,  either  to  get  or  to  retain. 
Life  no  longer  stretched  itself  before  him  as  a  stadium  of 
struggle  and  attainment ;  an  arena  of  competition  with  ever 
new  and  ever  vigorous  rivals.  His  mind  was  like  the  mouths 
of  his  children ;  he  could  feebly  apprehend,  he  could  tem- 
porarily grasp,  a  thought,  but  he  could  neither  fully  savour 
it  nor  firmly  hold  it.  It  would  slip  from  the  listless  clasp 
of  his  intelligence  and  leave  emptiness  behind  it.  Nor 
would  its  loss  be  felt,  or  the  desire  of  replacing  it  with 
any  fresh  food  for  reflection.  The  mind  was  content  with 
vacuity. 

Like  his  children,  too,  he  was  sans  eyes.  The  perceptive 
faculties  of  the  intellect  had  ceased  to  exist.  It  was  not 
merely  now  that  he  could  not  think — he  was  unable  to 
observe.  His  own  decline  into  mental  infancy  left  him 
but  dimly  conscious  of  the  second  physical  childhood  of 
his  sons.  He  was  just  sensible  of  their  general  state  when 
anything  brought  them  under  his  notice,  but  that  was  all. 
That  minute  and  alert  insight  with  which  he  would  have 
studied,  recorded,  and  theorised  upon  the  phenomena  of 
their  condition  was  gone  from  him.  He  could  not  have 
discriminated  between  them  or  classified  them  for  his  own 
satisfaction,  much  less  have  discussed  them  with  any  one 
else.  He  could  perceive  objects  of  intellectual  perception 
faintly  and  in  the  mass  ;  he  was  utterly  unable  to  disen- 
tangle their  details. 

IV.  L.—XV. 


98  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

But  the  saddest  part  of  his  lot,  or  what  he  would  have 
felt  as  such  if  age  had  not  mercifully  diminished  his 
capacity  for  suffering,  was  to  be  sans  taste.  He  had 
wholly,  entirely,  absolutely  ceased  to  enjoy ;  it  was  even 
no  longer  comprehensible  to  him,  as  he  dully  surveyed 
the  objects  of  former  enjoyment,  that  he  ever  could  have 
enjoyed  them.  Beauty  in  Art  or  Nature  no  longer  stirred 
in  him  the  faintest  thrill.  Poetry  became  to  him  as  prose — 
a  concern  of  the  mind  alone  and  not  of  the  soul — a  vehicle 
of  dim  impressions  only,  and  not,  as  formerly,  a  storehouse 
of  the  keenest  and  sweetest  emotions.  If  the  goddess  of 
Poesy  herself  could  have  again  descended  upon  him — an 
ironical  Diana  upon  a  still  more  inadequate  Endymion — 
her  little  practical  joke  would  have  missed  fire.  For  it  is 
always  necessary  that  the  victim  of  the  practical  joke 
should  see  it ;  and  the  irony  of  the  Diana  would  have  failed 
because  the  inadequacy  of  the  Endymion  would  have  been 
so  obviously  too  great.  Her  divine  countenance  would  have 
said  nothing  to  him,  the  light  on  her  brow  would  have 
reflected  no  radiance  upon  his,  the  wonder  of  her  un- 
fathomable eyes  would  have  been  lost  upon  the  dimness 
of  his  own.  But,  to  do  her  intelligence  justice,  she  never 
made  the  experiment.  Poesy  has  too  much  to  do  in 
dementing  the  young  to  have  time  or  attention  to  spare 
for  so  unprofitable  an  industry  as  that  of  befooling  the 
old. 

Let  it  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  the  condition  of 
Vicesimus  was  as  uniformly  lethargic  as  this.  It  must  not 
be  forgotten  that  he  was  not  a  man,  but  a  Century;  not 
an  individual,  but  the  type  and  personification  of  an  Age. 
Indeed,  he  endeavoured  at  times,  and  in  his  more  acutely 


THE  SEVENTH  AGE.  99 

conscious  intervals,  to  console  himself  with  this  very  reflec- 
tion. He  would  again  and  again  repeat  to  himself  that  he 
was  a  mere  arbitrary  creation  of  chronology ;  nay,  that  he 
possibly  had  no  existence  at  all  except  in  the  minds  of 
those  whom  he  called  his  children.  Yet  he  derived  but  a 
very  imperfect  solace  from  such  trains  of  thought,  for  they 
invariably  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  insoluble  pro- 
blem of  what  existence  meant,  and  set  him  asking  himself 
whether  those  children  whom  he  spoke  of  existed  otherwise 
than  in  their  own  and  each  other's  consciousness.  Still,  it 
was  quite  clear  that,  however  ideal  and  subjective,  however 
artificial  a  product  of  mere  thought  and  language  their 
existence  was,  the  men  themselves  had  been  keenly  sensible 
of  the  melancholy  process  of  growing  old,  and  that  in  their 
temporary  gleams  of  consciousness  they  could  weep  over 
the  helpless  state  into  which  they  had  fallen.  Why,  then, 
should  such  painful  emotions  be  any  less  real  to,  or  less 
easily  borne  by,  an  expiring  Century,  who  was  scarcely 
much  more  of  a  mental  figment  than  they? 

In  his  own  temporary  gleams  of  consciousness,  which 
of  course  were  more  frequent  and  more  illuminative  than 
theirs,  he  loved  the  presence  of  Time  beside  him,  and 
would  cling  to  him  pathetically,  yet  with  a  look  of  wistful 
bewilderment,  as  of  one  who  scarce  knew  whom  he  clasped 
or  why  he  was  so  loth  to  loose  him.  Yet  neither  was  this 
mood  permanent  with  Vicesimus ;  for  as  one  of  these  con- 
scious intervals  drew  towards  its  close,  and  the  period  of 
lethargy  again  drew  near,  he  would  turn  away  from  his  com- 
panion with  ineffable  weariness  and  disgust. 

Time,  however,  it  must  be  admitted,  gave  him  no  excuse 
for  this  variable  treatment.  On  the  whole  he  dealt  gently 


loo  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

with  Vicesimus,  and  never  more  so  than  at  the  moments 
when  he  was  about  to  sink  into  the  comatose  condition  in 
which  so  much  of  his  life  was  passed.  And  he  was  always 
ready  for  conversation  whenever  his  companion  showed  any 
desire  for  it. 

One  day,  after  long  and  wondering  contemplation  of 
Time,  Vicesimus  broke  silence,  if  silence  can  indeed  be 
described  as  broken  by  so  light  and  weak  a  whisper  as 
his. 

"  An  expiring  Century,"  he  murmured,  in  barely  audible 
tones,  "  is  a  melancholy  sight." 

"  Not  to  any  one  with  clear  ideas  on  metaphysics ! " 
replied  Time,  cheerfully.  "  You  should  reflect,"  he  added, 
"  that  you  only  figuratively  expire." 

"  I  have,"  was  the  muttered  reply ;  "  and  it  is  no  use. 
My  old  and  helpless  children  re — re — what  is  the  word  I 
want  ?— react  upon  me,  and  I  feel  their  weakness  and — and 
weariness — as  if — as  if — what  am  I  saying? — as  if  it  were 
my  own." 

"  Well,"  said  Time,  "  that  is  your  own  fault.  What  makes 
you  associate  with  such  wretched  old  men  ?  " 

Vicesimus  stared  dully  at  him  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
he  began  slowly  to  grapple  with  a  difficult  word  : 

"The  t— t— the  typ— the  typical.  They  are  the  ty— 
typical — 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  interrupted  the  other  with  good-humoured 
impatience ;  "  but  you  are  not  obliged  to  confine  yourself 
to  the  company  of  the  children  who  typify  you,  or  to  have 
any  of  it,  unless  you  like.  Don't  you  understand  that  the 
world  is  always  young,  and  that  while  you  and  the  sons  who 
were  born  with  you  are  passing  away,  new  lives — ay,  and 


THE  SEVENTH  AGE.  101 

new  ages,  new  generations — with  other  thoughts  and  hopes, 
and  imaginings  and  beliefs,  are  continually  beginning?" 

Time  meant  well,  and  was,  moreover,  employing  a  form 
of  consolation  which  he  had  tried  upon  previous  Centuries 
in  their  extreme  old  age  with  marked  success  ;  but  he  found, 
to  his  intense  surprise,  that  its  only  apparent  effect  upon 
his  companion  was  to  be  found  in  an  expression  of  blank 
and  stony  horror,  which  spread  gradually  over  his  aged  face. 

The  conversation  dropped  ;  but  Vicesimus  had  not  yet 
relapsed  into  one  of  his  lethargic  fits,  and  Time's  last  words 
provided  him  with  food  for  many  hours  of  depressing, 
agitating,  and  at  last  even  appalling  meditation. 

P'or  many  years  past  he  had  never  been  accustomed  to 
think  of  his  children  save  as  coeval  with  himself.  From 
youth  upwards  he  had  been  wont  to  abstract  his  attention 
from  all  but  his  contemporaries.  It  was  in  them  only  that 
he  seemed  to  himself  to  live  ;  it  was  he  and  they  alone  who 
acted  and  reacted  upon  each  other.  It  was  they  who  stood 
to  him  for  the  whole  mass  of  individuals  whom  as  a  Century 
he  represented.  He  had  at  last  got  to  forget  that  he  had 
any  other  younger  children  at  all.  And  Time's  reminder  of 
their  existence  struck  a  chill  to  his  weakened  heart. 

"  What?  Then  there  was  no  end  to  it  all!  " 

He  had  never  before  realised  with  anything  like  such 
intensity  the  eternal  flow  of  life,  and  the  thought  worked 
in  him  like  madness.  He  had  always  contemplated  the 
(ireat  River  in  stretches,  as  it  were,  of  a  hundred  years,  and 
as  receiving  at  every  such  interval  the  waters  of  a  new 
confluent ;  and  thus  it  had  seemed  no  impossible  feat  of 
the  imagination  to  realise  its  final  absorption  in  the  sea  of 
the  Infinite. 


102  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

But  to  think  of  it  as  replenished  every  day,  every  hour 
every  minute,  by  innumerable  tiny  tributaries,  was  to  think 
of  it  as  doomed  to  an  eternity  of  unresting  fluvial  existence, 
of  increasing  movement  towards  a  goal  which  was  never  to  be 
reached ;  and  there  was  all  the  despair  of  insomnia,  robbed 
of  its  right  and  refuge  of  suicide,  in  the  very  thought. 

It  haunted  him  in  all  his  conscious  hours  ;  it  revived  with 
every  emergence  from  his  lethargy ;  and  in  the  last  moments 
of  his  existence,  when  the  hands  of  the  World  Clock  were 
once  more  approaching  midnight  on  the  hundredth  3151  of 
December  from  that  on  which  Old  Seekleham  had  passed 
away,  the  agony  of  the  thought  had  become  intolerable. 

But  the  approach  of  the  end  had  produced  in  him,  as 
so  often  happens,  a  strange  exaltation  of  the  faculties.  His 
state  of  second-childishness  and  mere  oblivion  had  suddenly 
and  marvellously  passed  away ;  and  at  the  first  instant  of  his 
recovered  consciousness  he  turned  fiercely  upon  Time. 

To  his  overstrung  imagination  it  seemed  that  their  true 
relations  had  now  first  dawned  upon  him. 

"  Is  this,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  and  pointing  to  the  World 
Clock  as  he  spoke,  "  is  this  to  go  on  for  ever  ?  " 

"  Is  what  to  go  on  for  ever  ?  "  asked  his  companion,  with 
the  exasperating  stolidity  he  so  well  knew  how  to  assume. 

"  This — this  idiotic  mill-round ;  this  turnspit  business  that 
cooks  nothing." 

"Even  the  imminence  of  dissolution,  Vicesimus,"  said 
Time,  gently,  "can  hardly  excuse  such  obscurity  of  metaphor." 

"  Is  the  world  to  go  on  ?  Is  life  to  go  on  ?  "  exclaimed 
Vicesimus,  passionately.  "  Are  you — accursed  incubus, 
accursed  gaoler,  accursed  taskmaster  of  my  wretched  race 
— are  you  to  go  on  for  ever  ?  " 


THK    S1:\'1-:M'H  AGE.  103 

"  The  violence  of  your  emotions  confuses  your  concep- 
tions," said  his  companion.  "  Compose  yourself  and  explain 
your  meaning." 

"  Is  it  mere  folly  and  falsehood, '  cried  the  other  with 
increasing  vehemence,  "  is  it  nothing  but  a  lie  of  language, 
to  contrast  Time  with  Eternity?  Is  Time  itself  eternal, 
and  man  its  everlasting  and  helpless  thrall  ?  " 

"  At  last,"  said  Time,  "  you  condescend  to  the  intelligible 
and  I  can  answer  you.  My  answer  is,  No !  I  am  not  the 
master  of  man,  but  his  creature  ! " 

"  His  creature  ?  " 

"  Ay !  his  creature.  I  would  not  admit  it  to  your  pre- 
decessor, who  was  a  self-sufficient,  opinionated  chap,  and 
taunted  me  with  being  a  '  mere  form  of  the  subjective  con- 
sciousness.' But  with  you  I  will  be  more  frank.  What  he 
said  was  strictly  true." 

"  True  !  " 

"  Yes,  true.  I  am  a  mere  form  of  the  subjective  con- 
sciousness. I  have  no  independent  existence.  I  do  not 
exist  at  all  except  as  a  mode  of  the  sentient  human  mind  and 
a  condition  of  its  sentience.  You  see  now  how  unjust,  how 
absurd  were  your  denunciations  of  my  fancied  tyranny. 
Your  '  wretched  race,'  as  you  call  them,  have  their  emanci- 
pation in  their  own  hands.  So  long  as  there  is  a  single 
sentient  human  mind  in  existence  on  the  earth,  so  long  shall 
I  survive.  But  mankind  have  only  to  will — and  to  achieve — 
their  own  extinction,  and  from  that  moment  I  cease  to  be." 

Vicesimus  gazed  at  him  for  some  instants  in  silence. 
He  was  answered,  but  not  satisfied.  "  But  what  then  ? " 
he  resumed  at  last,  in  a  calmer  but  more  despairing  voice. 
"  How  much  the  better  are  mankind  for  that  ?  Will  they 


104  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

ever — can   they  ever  agree  unanimously  to  their  own  ex- 
tinction ?  " 

"  Well,  to  be  candid  with  you,"  said  Time,  with  a  smile, 
"I  do  not  think  they  ever  will.  That  is  not  a  sort  of 
motion  that  is  ever  likely  to  be  carried  mm.  con.  But  if 
they  do  not  choose  to  carry  it,  where  is  their  grievance 
against  me?" 

Vicesimus  was  not  in  a  position  to  say  where  it  was,  and 
relapsed  into  a  gloomy  silence. 

The  hands  of  the  World  Clock  moved  on ;  the  sands 
of  the  hour-glass  sank  lessening  down  ;  the  expiring  Vicesi- 
mus drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  end. 

He  spoke  again ;  but  more  to  himself  now  than  to  his 
companion. 

"  What  shall  sustain  us  ? ''  he  murmured,  in  a  voice  of 
anguish,  "  what  console  us  ?  Poetry  is  dead,  and  philoso- 
phy, and  religion,  and  the  joy  of  the  life  that  is,  and  the 
promise  of  the  life  to  come.  What  shall  sustain  us,  what 
console  us  ?  How,  as  knowledge  widens  and  hope  recedes, 
shall  we  learn  to  bear  our  fate  ? " 

"  Our  !  our !  our  !  We  !  we  !  we  !  I  !  I  !  I !  "  repeated 
Time,  in  mocking  accents.  "  You  never  will  learn  to  bear 
it  so  long  as  you  are  as  fond  of  those  words  as  you  are." 

"No,"  he  repeated  after  a  while,  in  a  graver  tone. 
"  And  you  won't  learn,  to  bear  it  by  adding  to  your 
widening  knowledge,  but  by  going  back  upon  an  ancient 
and  forgotten  wisdom — the  wisdom  of  the  Laugh." 

"  Of  the  laugh  ?  " 

"Yes!  of  the  laugh.  For  a  hundred  years,  with  brief 
intermission,  you  and  your  children  have  been  poring  over 
your  miserable  little  lives,  and  your  problematical  little 


THE  SEVENTH  AGE.  105 

souls,  and  asking  yourselves  in  perpetual  torment,  Whence 
come  they  ?  Whither  go  they  ?  What  are  they  ?  But  how 
often  have  you  looked  from  within  outwards,  and  asked 
yourself  that  other  question,  What  does  it  matter  1  Never  ? 
I  _  thought  so :  never !  Well,  not  till  your  children's 
children  learn  to  ask  that  question,  will  they  get  them- 
selves consolation.  Look  outwards  now  yourself — for  the 
moment  that  is  left  you." 

With  a  motion  of  his  hand  Time  flung  open  the  case- 
ment, and  through  its  aperture  Vicesimus  saw  the  stars  of 
heaven — Orion  the  hunter,  and  the  bear-ward  Bootes, 
busied  in  their  eternal  work. 

"  Look  upwards,  look  outwards,  look  around  !  Sweep 
with  your  eye  that  immeasurable  host  of  worlds,  and  then 
look  down  again  on  your  children,  crawling,  the  parasites 
of  an  atom,  upon  this  speck  in  the  Infinite,  and  demanding 
in  egotistic  agony  to  be  told  tlteir  future  share,  forsooth, 
in  the  destiny  of  the  whole.  Look  down  again  on  them, 
I  say,  and  ask  yourself  whether  such  a  contrast  should 
not  abound  for  you  in  the  divine  consolation  of  laughter." 

The  hands  of  the  World  Clock  trembled  on  the  point  of 
twelve,  and  Vicesimus  could  only  just  muster  up  strength 
enough  to  reply. 

"Don't — see — the  joke,"  he  murmured,  in  an  almost  in- 
audible voice. 

"  No  ?  "  said  Time,  blandly.  "  Well,  now  look  here, 
Vicesimus.  I  am  not  going  to  remind  you  of  the  solemnity 
of  the  moment,  for  the  sake  of  binding  you  to  the  truth,  for 
truthfulness  has  always  been  your  chief  virtue.  It  is  rather 
the  amount  of  your  self-knowledge  than  your  candour 
that  I  am  in  doubt  about ;  but  I  invite  you  at  this  solemn 


106  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

moment  to  interrogate  your  memory  strictly,  and  to  tell 
me  frankly  whether  you  ever  have  seen  a  joke  in  your 
life  ?  " 

Vicesimus  sank  back  upon  his  couch,  and  suddenly,  in 
that  clear  vision  of  the  dying,  it  broke  upon  him  that  he 
never  had. 

He  was  just  able  to  convey  a  negative  answer  to  Time's 
question  by  a  feeble  shake  of  the  head,  when  the  World 
Clock  struck  midnight,  and  he  expired. 

But  as  his  last  glance  went  upwards  to  the  starry  heaven, 
and  met  the  gaze  of  Arcturus  and  Orion  smiling  gravely 
down  upon  him  through  the  open  casement,  there  appeared 
upon  his  own  lips  the  faint  flicker  of  an  answering  smile, 
and  what  seemed  to  be  the  dim  dawn  of  a  sense  of  humour 
in  his  closing  eye. 

"  I  almost  think,"  said  Time,  as  he  pensively  watched 
his  departure,  "  that  if  he  had  lived  longer  he  would  have 
been  able  to  see  a  joke.  Anyhow,  the  power  shall  be 
restored  to  the  next  century  if  I  can  manage  it.  It  is 
a  serious  thing  for  mankind  to  have  been  without  it  for 
over  a  hundred  years." 


THE    END. 


A    FABLE   FOR    JUDGES. 

DARBY  had  jogged  with  Joan  along 
For  years,  and  never  thought  it  wrong 
(Nor  does  one  husband  in  a  million, 
If  we  the  honest  truth  must  own) 
That  he  should  ride  in  front,  and  Joan 
Should  sit  behind  him,  on  a  pillion. 

The  road  was  long,  and  sometimes  rough, 
And  Dobbin's  legs,  though  stout  enough, 

Might  have  been  just  a  thought  more  supple ; 
But  still  their  way,  well  pleased,  they  went ; 
They  jogged  along,  I  say,  content, 

A  simple-minded  country  couple. 

Well,  as  it  fell  upon  a  day, 

While  journeying  on  their  usual  way, 

Little  suspecting  what  hung  o'er  them, 
Behold  !  attired  in  full-dress  "  rig  " 
Of  gown,  and  bands,  and  horse-hair  wig, 

Three  learned  lawyers  stood  before  them. 

"  Here  !  hi  !  you  two  !  "  their  lordships  said 
(One  of  them  went  to  Dobbin's  head), 
With  air  imperious,  almost  regal, 


io8  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  In  all  our  lives  we  never  saw 
Such  bold  defiance  of  the  law, 

This  mode  of  riding's  quite  illegal. 

"  'Twill  be  a  gross  contempt  of  court 
If  you,  sir,  dare  maintain  the  sort 

Of  attitude  in  which  we  find  you  ; 
You  can't,  whoever  owns  the  horse, 
Allege  the  slightest  right,  of  course, 

To  make  the  lady  sit  behind  you. 

"This  is  undoubted  law,  we  know, 
And  hold  that  it  was  always  so 

From  earliest  times  of  Celt  and  Saxon  ; 
But  be  that  matter  as  it  may, 
At  any  rate  'tis  law  to-day, 

For  see  '  Ex parte  Emily  Jackson.'  " 

Poor  Darby  stared :  his  law  was  weak ; 
The  man  was  naturally  meek  ; 

And  when  they  cried,  "  Alight,  dear  madam  !  " 
'Twas  vain,  he  could  not  but  perceive, 
To  cite  the  judgment  in  "  Re  Eve," 

Or  try  them  with  "  Ex  parte  Adam." 

His  wife  was  struck  by  the  advice, 
Dame  Joan  dismounted  in  a  trice, 

While  sheepish  Darby,  fain  to  follow, 
Stood  gazing  pensive  on  the  ground, 
And  turned  the  judgment  round  and  round, 

Like  something  which  he  couldn't  swallow. 


A   FABLE  FOR  JUDGES.  109 

At  last  he  stammered  out  the  words, 
"  Is  she  to  ride  in  front,  my  Lords  ?  " 

(How  that  would  have  amazed  Justinian  !) 
But  straight  came  back  the  answer  pat, 
"  We  guard  ourselves  from  saying  that, 

On  that  we  offer  no  opinion. 

"  Our  judgment's  only  gist  and  brunt 
Is  that  you  may  not  ride  in  front 

On  any  plea  ;  and  if  you  do,  sir, 
Your  wife  acquires  the  right,  we  say, 
To  have  another  horse  straightway, 

And  have  the  bill  sent  in  to  you,  sir." 

On  this,  their  lordships  left  the  place 
With  that  sedate  and  solemn  pace 

Affected  by  the  learned  classes ; 
Joan  looked  at  Darby,  he  at  her, 
But  neither  seemed  inclined  to  stir, 

And  Dobbin  browsed  the  roadside  grasses. 

Some  minutes  after,  Darby  spoke, 
Prepared,  unhappy  man,  to  joke 

On  what  might  prove  a  life's  estrangement. 
"  I  mustn't  ride  in  front,  'tis  true," 
Said  he ;  "  but  neither,  dear,  may  you, 

So  what's  to  be  the  new  arrangement  ?  ' 

Now  plans  may  in  a  flash  arise 
Which,  usually  to  devise, 

Would  take  the  most  inventive  man  years. 


no  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

And  thus  inspired  the  husband  cried, 
"  If  side  by  side  we  needs  must  ride, 
Let  me  suggest — a  pair  of  panniers  !  " 

Joan  answered  not ;  she  would  not  talk  ; 
• 

She  neither  cared  to  ride  nor  walk  ; 

She  mused,  she  sulked,  she  wanted  rousing. 
Darby,  good  soul,  resolved  to  wait ; 
He  lit  a  pipe,  and  climbed  a  gate, 

While  Dobbin  still  continued  browsing. 

But  if  I'm  asked,  my  married  friends, 
To  tell  you  how  this  story  ends, 

And  what  are  now  that  pair's  positions, 
I  frankly  own  I  do  not  know  ; 
I  really  cannot  say — although 

I  entertain  my  own  suspicions. 

Judges  are  influential  men, 
They  awe  the  simple  citizen, 

And  their  pronouncements  ought  to  bind  him. 
But  yet — but  yet — when  once  these  twain 
Remount,  I  think  you'll  find  again 

Darby  in  front,  and  Joan  behind  him. 
' 


THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU. 

WHO  does  not  know  the  island  of  Porcolongu,  and 
the  group  to  which  it  gives  its  name — loveliest 
cluster  of  islets  with  which  the  hand  of  Nature  has  sprinkled 
the  sunny  bosom  of  the  South  Pacific  ?  Its  name  has  long 
been  familiar  to  every  board-school  boy  in  the  kingdom  ; 
and  so  keenly  has  the  present  rage  for  annexation  stimulated 
the  study  of  geography  in  the  official  world,  that  there  are 
few  of  the  more  punctually  arriving  clerks  in  the  Foreign 
Office  who  cannot  make  shift  to  find  it  on  a  good  map 
before  it  is  time  to  go  out  for  lunch.  No  island  even  in 
that  favoured  region  is  more  blest.  Its  climate  is  delicious, 
its  people  contented,  its  king  convivial.  The  demands  of 
the  Australian  labour-market  do  not  expose  it  to  more  than 
an  occasional  visit  from  vessels  engaged  in  the  coolie- 
traffic — whose  crews,  moreover,  rarely  use  their  revolvers 
nowadays,  except  in  cases  of  very  obstinate  resistance. 
Porcolongu  rejoices  in  a  European  Prime  Minister,  declared 
by  travellers  who  have  enjoyed  his  hospitality  to  possess 
the  best  (for  surely  the  strongest  is  the  best)  head  in  the 
southern  hemisphere ;  and  it  is  the  diocesan  seat  of  a  most 
zealous  colonial  bishop,  always  courteously  ready  to  offer 
ghostly  counsel  to  any  member  of  his  flock  who  can  make  it 
convenient  to  call  upon  him  at  the  Athenoeum  between  two 
and  four. 


112  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  a  spot  so  rich  in  natural 
and  acquired  advantages  would  long  remain  unnoticed  by 
any  of  the  Great  Powers  of  Europe.  As  lying  in  the  high 
road  to  nowhere,  its  position  eminently  fitted  it  for  use  as 
a  coaling-station  by  vessels  plying  on  that  route,  and  was  at 
the  same  time  calculated  to  impress  every  European  Power 
with  the  necessity  of  annexing  the  group  as  a  mere  measure 
of  self-protection  against  the  aggressive  designs  of  its 
neighbours.  Accordingly,  in  the  year  188 — -it  suddenly 
occurred  to  two  Continental  States  that  they  had  subjects 
in  Porcolongu  whose  interests  had  been  too  long  neglected  ; 
and  they  proceeded  to  establish  consulates  there  without 
further  delay.  Diplomacy  has  earned  so  bad  a  name  for  its 
method  of  treating  facts  that  it  should  in  common  justice  be 
here  recorded  that  this  was  no  mere  pretext  on  the  part  of 
the  two  Continental  States  in  question.  There  were  three 
Frenchmen,  one  of  them  an  escaped  convict  from  New 
Caledonia,  and  two  Germans,  both  fugitives  from  military 
service,  resident  on  the  island ;  so  that  Mr.  Quillitt,  the 
ambitious  and  discontented  British  Consul  who  had  been 
for  some  years  protecting  the  five  British  subjects  in 
Porcolongu,  could  only  report  to  his  Government  that  this 
movement  on  the  part  of  France  and  Germany  "  appeared  " 
to  him  "  suspicious," — adding  that,  though  there  was  a 
"  marked  disparity  between  the  French,  and  still  more 
between  the  German,  interests  requiring  protection  and  those 
of  Great  Britain,  he  was  not  prepared  to  express  an  absolute 
conviction  that  the  attitude  of  the  two  Powers  indicated  any 
designs  of  territorial  acquisition  on  the  part  of  either." 

Mr.  Quillitt's,  however,  was  not  the  only  bosom  in  which 
suspicion  was  aroused.  The  arrival  of  the  French  and 


THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU.     113 

German  consuls  awoke  uneasiness  also  in  that  part  of  the 
O'Mara  Molloy's  person  which  he  was  wont  to  describe,  at 
the  same  time  striking  it,  as  "  me  har'rt " ;  for  its  owner 
was  shrewdly  sensible  that  if  Porcolongu  were  to  pass  into 
the  hands  of  any  European  Power,  the  occupation  of  The 
O'Mara,  like  that  of  The  O'Thello,  would  be  gone  for  ever. 
Now  this  enterprising  and  ingenious  Irishman  was  growing 
old,  and  knew  it.  Though  descended,  like  a  working 
majority  of.  his  fellow-countrymen,  from  the  ancient  kings 
of  Ireland,  there  were  reasons  (not  unconnected  with 
pecuniary  liabilities)  which  made  him  unwilling  to  return  to 
the  land  over  which  his  ancestors  had  once  ruled  ;  and  his 
various  sojourns  in  different  parts  of 'the  world  had  done 
more  for  the  enlargement  of  his  mind  than  of  his  means. 
He  had  on  two  occasions  succeeded  in  acquiring  a  moderate 
fortune  (on  paper)  by  services  rendered  to  the  successful 
candidate  (who  ultimately  became,  by  the  vigorous  employ- 
ment of  paid  canvassers  in  military  uniform,  the  sole 
competitor)  for  the  Presidency  of  a  South  American  Re- 
public ;  but  his  gains  had  in  each  case,  through  an  imprudent 
delay  of  more  than  a  fortnight  in  realising  them,  been 
swept  away  by  a  counter-revolution.  Chance  had  brought 
him  to  Porcolongu  ;  great  gifts,  both  of  administration  and 
of  trade  rum,  had  commended  him  to  the  notice  of  its  king  ; 
and  the  impulsive  gratitude  of  the  monarch  had  soon  after- 
wards passed  the  post  of  Prime  Minister  on  the  accom- 
plished stranger  who  had  been  the  first  to  bring  him  under 
the  civilising  influences  of  "  poker."  The  opportunities  of 
the  post  had  enabled  The  O'Mara  Molloy  to  lay  by  a  certain 
provision  for  his  old  age ;  but  one  by  no  means  sufficient,  as 
he  felt,  to  maintain  the  state  becoming  his  royal  extraction ; 
\v.  L.—XV.  o 


114  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

and  the  prospect  of  finding  himself  turned  adrift  at  an  early 
date  by  the  representative  of  some  annexing  or  protecting 
European  Power  gave  him  considerable  anxiety.  Clearly,  it 
was  necessary  for  him  to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shone. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  lineal  descendant  of  Brian  Boroihme 
had  come  to  this  conclusion,  a  knock  at  the  door  aroused 
Mr.  Quillitt  from  his  afternoon  siesta  in  the  little  shanty 
which  was  dignified  by  the  name  of  the  British  Consulate. 

"  Come  in,"  cried  the  British  Consul  drowsily.  "  Oh  ! 
it's  you,  Molloy,  is  it  ?  "  Mr.  Quillitt  never  recognised  the 
Prime  Minister's  chieftainship  of  his  sept,  in  familiar  inter- 
course. "  Why,  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  continued, 
his  attention  arrested  by  the  look  of  portentous  gravity  on 
the  Premier's  face. 

"  Matter,  is  ut  ?  "  said  The  O'Mara  Molloy,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him  with  a  mysterious  air.  "  It's  the  divil 
and  all  the  matter,  me  boy ;  as  ye'll  say  hwhan  I  tell 
ye." 

"  Well,  speak  out,  man !  what  is  it  ? "  inquired  Mr. 
Quillitt  with  impatience,  and  apparently  quite  forgetful  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  addressing  the  First  Minister  of  the 
Crown.  "  Have  you  dropped  an  ace  out  of  your  sleeve,  or 
has  the  King  joined  the  Blue  Ribbon  Army  ?  " 

"  Misther  Quillutt,  sorr ! "  replied  his  visitor  with  much 
dignity,  "your  jokes  are  unbecoming,  and  my  business  is 
serious — anny  way  for  you  and  your  Government.  And  let 
me  say,  sorr,  that  since  'tis  little  enough  that  The  O'Mara 
Molloy  owes  to  the  oppressors  of  me  counthry,  the  kindness 
I'm  doing  yourself  personally  by  this  visit  should  be.  the 
more  appreciated." 

"  I  beg  your  Excellency's  pardon,"  said  the  Consul  with 


THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU.     115 

mock  gravity,  which,  however,  soon  became  real  on  hearing 
his  companion's  next  sentence. 

"  'T  would  be  bad  for  you  in  Downing  Street,  I  imagine, 
Mr.  Quillutt,"  said  the  illustrious  Irishman,  "  if  the  French 
were  to  annex  Porcolongu,  and  you  had  heard  divil  a  word 
about  ut  until  after  the  thricolor  had  been  hoisted." 

"  Eh  ?  what  ?  annex  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Quillitt,  much  alarmed. 
"  What  makes  you  think  they  are  going  to — 

"  Never  mind  what  makes  me  think  ut,"  said  the  states- 
man loftily.  "  A  Proime  Minister,  sorr,  is  not  at  liberty  to 
revale  the  sources  of  his  information.  Enough  that  I  have 
been  made  acquainted  through  a  trusty  eegent  with  M.  de 
Chauvin's  insthructions,  and  I'm  informed  that  in  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks,  unless — unless,  mind — something  occurs  to 
prevent  ut,  the  whole  group  will  pass  under  the  French 
flag." 

"  Good  God  !  "  ejaculated  the  Consul,  convinced  by  the 
solemnity  of  the  Minister's  manner.  "  But  something  must 
be  done ;  the  thing  must  be  prevented." 

"  You're  right,  me  boy,"  said  his  visitor,  with  a  smile  of 
satisfaction  at  the  impression  which  he  had  made,  and  which 
he  saw  might,  by  judicious  management,  be  indefinitely  in- 
creased. 

After  about  half  an  hour's  conversation  his  Excellency 
took  his  departure,  leaving  Mr.  Quillitt  in  a  state  of 
considerable  perturbation.  His  confidence  in  The  O'Mara 
Molloy's  judgment,  or  even  in  his  veracity,  was  not  bound- 
less ;  but  in  the  present  case  the  Prime  Minister's  statement 
derived  only  too  much  credibility  from  the  circumstances. 
The  establishment  of  the  French  and  German  consulates 
in  Porcolongu  had  struck  Mr.  Quillitt  from  the  first  as 


ii6  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

suspicious.  What  could  France  and  Germany  want  with 
a  Consul  to  protect  their  three  French  and  two  German 
subjects  on  the  island  ?  It  was  not  as  though,  like  England, 
they  had  five  citizens  to  look  after,  and  a  sixth  (or,  if  twins, 
a  sixth  and  seventh)  expected.  Decidedly,  this  step  on  the 
part  of  these  Powers  portended  something  ;  and  it  might  be 
as  well  to  be  on  one's  guard.  Some  bold  precautionary 
stroke  was  necessary ;  and  after  long  rumination  Mr.  Quillitt 
devised  and  determined  on  it.  Next  morning,  accordingly, 
he  attired  himself  in  his  consular  uniform  (a  compliment 
which  he  always  paid  the  Prime  Minister  whenever  he  was 
about  to  make  him  any  questionable  proposal),  and  went 
round  to  The  O'Mara  Molloy's  official  residence  at  the 
Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs. 

His  Excellency  was  sitting  under  his  verandah  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, smoking  his  after-breakfast  cigar,  with  a  cooling,  but 
not  too  cooling,  drink  before  him.  Noticing  his  visitor's 
attire,  he  proposed,  with  the  native  courtesy  of  his  race,  to 
array  himself  in  the  cocked  hat  "  bequaithed  to  me  uncle 
by  a  mar'rshal  of  France,"  which, — not  of  course  unaccom- 
panied by  other  though  less  imposing  articles  of  apparel, — 
constituted  his  official  costume. 

Mr.  Quillitt  begged  him  not  to  trouble  himself.  "  I  have 
called,  your  Excellency,"  he  said,  with  much  solemnity  of 
manner,  "  to  resume,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  do  so,  our 
conversation  of  yesterday  with  reference  to  the  designs  of 
France  upon  his  Majesty's  possessions." 

The  O'Mara  Molloy  bowed  with  a  dignity  equal  to  that 
of  the  Consul,  but  remained  silent. 

"So  grave  do  I  consider  the  situation,  as  disclosed  to 
me  in  your  Excellency's  statement,  that  I  propose  taking 


THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU.      117 

immediate  steps — diplomatic,  of  course,"  he  added,  after  a 
momentary  pause,  and  in  a  tone  of  meaning,  which,  how- 
ever, produced  no  responsive  sign  upon  his  companion's 
face,  "  with  a  view  to  the  protection  of  the  British  interests 
which  would  be  endangered  by  a  French  annexation  of  the 
group.  The  most  judicious  course  of  procedure  would  be, 
I  think,  to  endeavour  to  negotiate  a  treaty  of  alliance  with 
his  Majesty,  King  Afseesova,  whereby,  in  consideration  of 
his  Majesty's  agreeing  to  recognise  a  British  Protectorate 
over  his  dominions,  the  British  Government  would,  on  their 
part,  guarantee  an  undisturbed  sovereignty  over  them  to  him 
and  his  heirs  for  ever.  May  I  count  on  your  Excellency's 
good  offices  in  bringing  about  such  an  arrangement  ?  " 

"  Ye  may,  sorr,"  said  The  O'Mara  Molloy,  after  a 
few  moments  of  statesmanlike  reflection.  "  But  it's  impos- 
sible to  pledge  meself  that  me  efforts  will  be  successful." 

"  I  will  address  a  despatch  to  your  Excellency,"  said 
Mr.  Quillitt,  with  a  smile  flickering  at  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  "  pointing  out  to  you  what  I  deem  to  be  the 
commanding  reasons  which  should  determine  you  in  the 
interests  both  of  your  native  and  your  adopted  country  to 
conclude  the  Convention  which  I  suggest." 

"  Will  your  argyments  be  addressed  to  his  Majesty,  or  to 
me  personally  ?"  inquired  The  O'Mara  Molloy,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

"  To  you  personally,"  said  the  British  Consul,  the  smile 
taking  firmer  possession  of  his  lips.  And  producing  a  fat 
pocket-book  from  his  pocket,  he  proceeded  :  "  Inclosure  A, 
in  despatch  No.  So-and-so,  will  contain  this  powerful  appeal 
to  your  Excellency's  fine  sense  of  political  expediency." 
With  which  words  he  waved  gently  before  the  eyes  of  his 


iiS  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

companion  a  small  oblong  slip  of  paper  bearing  the  brief 
but  pregnant  legend,  "  I.O.U.  ,£500.    The  O'Mara  Molloy." 

The  blood  of  another  line  of  sovereigns  (less  than  five 
hundred  perhaps,  but  still  a  considerable  number)  flushed 
up  into  the  cheeks  of  the  Prime  Minister,  and  lent  a  deeper 
purple  to  his  kingly  nose. 

"  Never !  "  he  exclaimed  with  indignant  emphasis,  as  soon 
as  the  power  of  speech  returned.  "  Never  !  Divil  a  treaty 
do  ye  get  from  me,  Mr.  Quillutt,  on  such  terms  as  those  ! " 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow — 

"  Not  another  word,  sorr  !  I'm  astonished  that  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  British  Crown  should  insult  a  British  subject 
by  asking  um  to  traffic  in  his  debts  of  honour." 

Mr.  Quillitt  was  abashed.  It  had  occurred  to  him  that 
the  most  economical  way  of  securing  the  Minister's  good 
offices  would  be  to  forgive  him  a  debt  he  had  contracted  to 
the  Consul  in  the  vicissitudes  of  ecarte.  But  he  had  not 
taken  sufficient  account  of  the  sensitive  pride  which  animates 
the  breasts  of  those  Irishmen  whose  ancestors  were  sum- 
moned to  rule  by  the  acclamations  of  their  countrymen  on 
the  Hill  of  Tara.  Nor,  perhaps,  had  he  appraised  with 
sufficient  exactitude  the  pecuniary  value  of  the  Prime 
Minister's  "paper  "in  the  modest  estimation  of  its  signatory. 

There  was  nothing  for  it,  Mr.  Quillitt  perceived,  but  to 
offer  his  Excellency  something  down,  and  the  Consul  at  last 
resolved,  after  further  reflection,  to  "go  a  monkey"  (as  he 
expressed  it)  out  of  his  own  pocket.  If  the  coup  came  off, 
he  might  look  to  be  reimbursed  out  of  the  secret  service 
money ;  if  it  failed — well,  he  could  still  trust,  he  thought,  to 
his  superior  force  at  ecarte  to  compel  the  Prime  Minister 
to  disgorge  some,  if  not  the  whole,  of  his  gains.  He 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF   PORCOLONGU.     119 

accordingly   lost  no  time  in  arranging  the  matter   by  the 
despatch  of  a  cheque  for  the  amount  above  specified,  and 
sat  down  to   draft   an  artfully  worded  communication  to 
the  Foreign  Office,  informing  that  department  that  he  had 
"just  received  through  his  Excellency  General  The  O'Mara 
Molloy,  the  able  and  distinguished  Minister  of  his  Majesty 
the   King  of  Porcolongu,  information  which  left  no  room 
for  doubt  that  the  French  Government  were  meditating  the 
almost  immediate   annexation   of   the  group " ;   that   "  his 
Majesty  had,  at  any  rate,  instructed  his  Prime  Minister  to 
say  that  he  viewed  the  present  position  of  affairs  with  ex- 
treme apprehension,  and  to  sound  the  representative  of  her 
Britannic  Majesty  at  Porcolongu  as  to  the  willingness  of  the 
British  Government  to  conclude  a  Treaty  of  Alliance  and 
Protectorate  with  King  Afseesova,  whereby  to  secure  his 
independence  against  the  threatened  attack."     Mr.  Quillitt 
went  on  to  add  that,  "  in  the  undeniably  grave  and  urgent 
circumstances  of  the  case,  he  had  not  felt  himself  warranted 
in  rejecting  definitely,  and  on  his  own  authority,  the  overtures 
thus  made  to  him  ;  and  had  accordingly  informed  his  Ex- 
cellency the  Prime  Minister  that,  subject  of  course  to  the 
approval  of  her  Majesty's  Government,  and  on  the  distinct 
understanding  that  they  were  to  be  in  no  way  bound  by  his 
action,  he  was  willing  to  conside^he  draft  of  such  a  treaty, 
and  to  take  all  the  preliminary  steps  required  to  put  him  in 
a  position  to  sign  it  on  receiving  the  due  official  authority 
to  do  so." 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  before  despatching  this  tele- 
gram (and  indeed  before  sending  The  O'Mara  Molloy  that 
oblong  slip  of  argumentative  paper  which  had  finally  con- 
vinced the  Prime  Minister  of  the  necessity  of  a  British 


120  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

Protectorate  of  Porcolongu)  Mr.  Quill itt  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution of  stipulating  for  an  actual  and  immediate  execution 
of  the  treaty  on  his  Majesty's  side.  The  instrument  lay 
before  him,  duly  signed,  as  he  was  putting  the  final  touches 
to  his  telegram.  It  contained  only  three  clauses,  but  was 
conceived  in  perfectly  clear  and  satisfactory  terms. 

"  Had  you  much  difficulty  in  obtaining  his  Majesty's  sig- 
nature?" inquired  Quillitt  of  the  Prime  Minister,  eyeing 
the  subscription  with  a  somewhat  doubting  air. 

"  Divil  a  ha'p'orth  ! "  was  the  ready  reply.  "  Hwhy  would 
there  be  anny  ?  Ye  just  prop  um  up  a  bit  and  hold  uz 
hand." 

"The  Royal  sign-manual  seems  a  little  less  bold  and  firm 
than  I  should  have  expected  from  a  man  of  his  Majesty's 
character,"  said  the  Consul,  still  doubtful. 

"  Bedad  !  it's  furrum  enough  for  a  man  in  his  Majesty's 
condition,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  twinkle. 

"Did  your  audience  last  so  long,  then?"  asked  Mr. 
Quillitt. 

"As  long  as  the  matayrials,"  was  the  reply.  "We  didn't 
leave  a  dhrop  in  the  bottle." 

"H'm,"  said  the  Consul,  still  inspecting  the  signature; 
"  the  right-hand  stroke  is  good  enough,  but  the  left-hand 
one's  very  jumpy— barely  intersects  the  other  at  all,  in  fact. 
However,  I've  seen  worse — on  a  ballot-paper — and  your 
counter-signature  binds  you,  in  any  case." 

Mr.  Quillitt's  telegram  was  despatched  accordingly,  and 
he  waited  with  considerable  confidence  for  an  approving 
reply  from  Lord  St.  Jingo.  Unfortunately,  however,  it  was 
some  weeks  since  the  last  mail  had  brought  news  from 
England,  and  Lord  St.  Jingo,  instead  of  guiding  the  foreign 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOI.ONGU.      121 

policy  of  the  country  from  Downing  Street,  was  at  that 
moment  enjoying  the  sweets  of  newly-recovered  liberty  at 
his  country  house.  A  change  of  ministry  had  occurred  since 
Mr.  Quillitt's  last  advices,  and  Lord  Shivers  of  Shakerley 
had  succeeded  to  his  rival's  place.  A  week  did  not  elapse 
before  the  Consul  received  an  agitated  telegram  in  the 
following  words  :  "  Suspend  negotiations  at  once.  Despatch 
follows" ;  and  with  the  arrival  of  the  mail  a  few  hours  later, 
bringing  word  of  the  political  events  which  had  taken  place, 
the  whole  mystery  was  explained.  Mr.  Quillitt  at  once 
divined  that  his  counsels  of  haute  politique  had  been  rejected 
with  something  like  dismay  by  the  new  Foreign  Secretary, 
and  began  to  apprehend  a  wigging  for  himself.  In  the 
despatch  from  I  Knvning  Street  which  reached  him  a  few 
weeks  later  he  found  ample  justification  for  his  fears. 

"  I  am  directed  to  inform  you,"  wrote  the  Permanent 
Secretary,  "that  her  Majesty's  Government,  while  fully 
sensible  of  the  zeal  by  which  you  have  been  animated,  and 
the  promptitude  with  which  you  have  acted,  are  unable  to 
approve  of  the  course  which  you  have  pursued.  You  will 
take  an  early  opportunity  of  seeking  another  interview  with 
his  Excellency  the  Prime  Minister  of  Porcolongu,  and  will 
inform  him  that  her  Majesty's  Government  do  not  share 
the  apprehensions  which  have  been  expressed  by  him  on 
behalf  of  his  Sovereign,  and  that  they  regard  the  step  re- 
commended by  him  as  altogether  premature.  Her  Majesty's 
Government  continue  to  receive  assurances  of  the  most 
friendly  character  from  the  Government  of  the  French  Re- 
public, and  they  see  no  reason  to  believe  that  that  Govern- 
ment entertains  any  designs  of  territorial  acquisition  in  the 
Pacific.  I  am  to  add  that  though  her  Majesty's  Government 


122  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

do  not  question  the  excellence  of  the  motives  which  induced 
you  to  give  provisional  countenance  to  the  proposal  of  a 
Protectorate,  they  cannot  acquit  you  of  a  grave  error  of 
judgment  in  taking  that  course;  and,  with  a  view  to  prevent 
the  recurrence  of  any  gimilar  misunderstanding,  I  am  to 
request  that,  before  entertaining  any  future  proposal  which 
may  be  made  to  you  by  or  on  behalf  of  his  Majesty  the 
King  of  Porcolongu,  you  will  submit  it  to  her  Majesty's 
Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  and  await  his  in- 
structions." 

Having  completed  the  perusal  of  this  most  disagreeable 
communication,  Mr.  Quillitt  uttered  a  sentence  which, 
without  being  actually  a  prayer,  was  not  unlike  one  in  point 
of  grammatical  construction.  He  posted  off  at  once  to  the 
Prime  Minister  and  flung  down  the  despatch  before  him 
without  a  word.  The  O'Mara  Molloy  read  it  through  with 
an  unmoved  countenance,  folded  it  up,  and  returned  it  to 
his  visitor. 

"  I  congratulate  ye,  Mr.  Quillutt,"  was  all  he  said. 

"  Congratulate  me  !     What  do  you  mean  ?     On  what  ?  " 

"  On  the  tranquillitee  of  your  conscience,  *sorr,"  replied 
the  Prime  Minister,  with  much  di3nity.  "  It  must  be  a 
great  satisfaction  to  ye  to  reflect  that,  however  blind  your 
Government,  you,  at  least,  have  done  your  duty  to  your 
counthry." 

"  Oh,  ah  !  yes,  of  course, — and  all  that,"  said  Mr.  Quillitt, 
though  with  but  chastened  enthusiasm.  "  But  I  say, 
Molloy — you  know — that  five  hundred — eh?  Don't  you 
think — wouldn't  it  be  fairer — especially  considering — eh  ? 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

But  The  O'Mara  Molloy  had   said   nothing.     He    was 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOLONGU.       123 

gazing  out  into  the  distance  with  a  far-away  look  in  his 
eyes,  as  though  striving  to  descry  the  Hill  of  Tara  through 
the  haze  of  the  centuries. 

"  Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Quillutt,"  he  said,  after  rousing 
himself  with  difficulty  from  his  stately  reverie. 

"  Well,  there  is  not  much  to  explain,"  said  the  Consul, 
nettled  into  plain  speaking.  "That  five  hundred  you  got 
was,  of  course,  conditional  on  the  execution  of  the  treaty." 

"  No  doubt,  sorr,"  was  the  Minister's  reply.  "  And  that 
is  why  you  insisted  on  his  Majesty's  executing  it." 

"  His  Majesty !  Yes !  But  what  I  mean  is  that  the 
treaty  was  to  be  executed  on  our  side  too." 

"  Then,  hwhat  the  divil  hinders  ye  from  executing  it  ?  " 
said  The  O'Mara  Molloy,  rising  from  his  chair  with  an  air 
of  sternness  which  indicated  that  the  audience  was  closed. 
"  Ye're  thrifling  with  me,  Mr.  Quillutt,  and  bedad,  sorr, 
there  is  no  man  living  who  shall  thrifle  with  The  O'Mara 
Molloy  without  ruun'  ut." 

The  British  Consul  was  not  wanting  in  resolution,  and, 
thoroughly  understanding  his  man,  he  would  have  taken 
his  chance  of  "  ruun'  ut  "  if  he  had  thought  the  moment  a 
favourable  one  for  a  quarrel.  But  he  was  forced  to  admit  to 
himself  that  after  all  there  was  something  to  be  said  for  the 
Prime  Minister's  interpretation  of  their  bargain,  and,  more- 
over, he  did  not  yet  feel  sure  that  the  draft  treaty  might 
not  pay  for  itself  after  all.  Mr.  Quillitt,  it  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  say,  had  not  relied  wholly  on  so  doubtful  an 
informant  for  intelligence  as  to  the  designs  of  France.  He 
had  prosecuted  inquiries  in  other  quarters,  notably  of  the 
German  Consul,  Herr  Wolkenkopf,  a  simple-minded,  easily- 
handled  Teuton,  an  ardent  naturalist,  with  apparently  no 


124  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

thought  or  ambition  connected  with  anything  besides  his 
hobby.  The  Machiavellian  Mr.  Quillitt  had  early  conceived 
the  idea  of  playing  off  one  of  these  two  foreign  officials 
against  the  other,  and  as  they  consorted  a  good  deal 
together,  he  immediately  made  it  his  business  to  pump  the 
Herr  for  any  information  which  he  might  have  gathered  in 
the  confidence  of  social  intercourse  as  to  the  diplomatic  or 
other  designs  of  Monsieur.  And  when  he  found,  as  he 
immediately  did,  that  the  attitude  of  M.  de  Chauvin,  and 
the  mysterious  hints  let  fall  by  him  from  time  to  time,  had 
aroused  suspicion  even  in  the  unsuspecting  heart  of  Herr 
Wolkenkopf  himself  (or  so  at  least  that  artless  child  of  nature 
averred),  why,  Mr.  Quillitt  concluded,  not  unreasonably,  that 
The  O'Mara  Molloy's  warnings  had  confirmation  enough. 
The  French  Government,  he  argued,  must  pretty  soon  open 
the  eyes  of  Downing  Street  to  their  real  intentions,  and 
unless  then  they  were  very  prompt  in  executing  them,  the 
draft  Treaty  of  Protectorate,  now  safe  in  Mr.  Quillitt's  desk, 
would  rapidly  rise  in  value  in  the  estimation  of  a  panic- 
stricken  English  Foreign  Office.  All  which  considerations 
combined  to  reconcile  Mr.  Quillitt  to  "  lying  out  of  his 
monkey  "  for  a  time  (as  he  described  it  in  a  phrase  which 
may  be  commended  to  foreign  professors  of  the  English 
language),  and  determined  him  on  playing  a  waiting  game. 

The  waiting  game,  however,  turned  out  to  be  a  very  long 
one ;  and  the  French  Government  appeared  to  be  in  no 
hurry  to  perform  the  expected  ophthalmic  operation  upon 
Downing  Street.  Weeks  passed,  and  the  island  of  Porco- 
longu  remained  unannexed  to  the  territories  of  the  French 
Republic.  M.  de  Chauvin  made  no  sign,  and  the  reluctant 
mind  of  Mr.  Quillitt  submitted  itself  gradually  to  the  un- 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOLONGU.      125 

comfortable  conviction  that  he  had  been  "  sold."  The 
scion  of  Irish  kings  had  bamboozled  him,  he  began  to  fear, 
by  a  mere  cock-and-bull  story  of  French  designs,  and  had 
left  him  five  hundred  pounds  the  poorer  for  having  believed 
it.  He  said  nothing  either  to  The  O'Mara  Molloy  or  to 
any  one  else; -but  the  imposture  of  which  he  had  been 
made  the  victim  was  never  out  of  his  mind,  and  he  spent 
many  a  sleepless  night  in  revolving  innumerable  schemes 
of  retaliation,  or  at  the  very  least  of  reimbursement.  It 
was  some  consolation  to  reflect  that  the  luck  had  gone 
against  him  of  late  at  ccarte,  and  that,  as  he  had  taken  the 
precaution  of  not  paying  his  recent  losses  to  the  Prime 
Minister,  he  was  now  considerably  in  the  latter's  debt. 

One  night,  about  four  months  after  the  costly  negotiation 
into  which  he  had  been  so  rashly  induced  to  enter,  Mr. 
Quillitt  and  the  Prime  Minister  sat  battling  together  at 
ccarte  in  the  Consul's  den.  Her  Britannic  Majesty's  repre- 
sentative had  had  emphatically  a  bad  time.  The  luck  had 
run  for  hours  without  an  interruption  in  favour  of  the  high- 
born Irishman,  and  that  in  such  an  overwhelming  tide  of 
good  fortune  that  his  opponent's  undoubtedly  superior  skill 
had  been  utterly  powerless  to  make  head  against  it.  The 
Consul's  debt  had  doubled  and  trebled  since  they  sat  down, 
and  when  at  a  little  after  midnight  he  threw  aside  the  cards 
in  disgust,  he  found  that  his  losses  were  close  upon  ^£300. 
Mr.  Quillitt  made  the  addition  with  some  difficulty — for  he 
had  been  drinking  hard  latterly — and,  in  the  excitement  of 
loss,  a  good  deal  too  hard  to  allow  him  the  full  command  of 
his  faculties.  At  the  same  time,  and  by  a  confusion  between 
subject  and  object  which  is  very  common  among  a  certain 
class  of  the  intoxicated,  he  was  confidently  persuaded  that 


126  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

the  more  liquor  he  consumed  the  more  helpless  became  the 
drunkenness  of  his  companion. 

"  Molloy,"  said  Mr.  Quillitt,  after  eyeing  the  Prime 
Minister  for  a  few  minutes  with  an  air  of  pity  for  his  de- 
plorable condition,  "  would  you  like  me  to  pay  you  what  I 
owe  you  ?  " 

His  creditor  signified,  with  a  courteous  shrug,  that  though 
he  was  in  no  violent  hurry  he  would  not  refuse  to  receive 
payment  if  it  were  offered  him. 

The  Consul  rose  from  his  chair,  walked  with  a  somewhat 
unsteady  step  to  his  escritoire.,  which  he  unlocked  and 
opened  with  a  still  more  unsteady  hand,  and,  returning  to 
the  table  with  the  Treaty  of  Alliance  and  Protectorate,  "  I 
have  here,  your  Excellency,"  he  said,  his  liquid  consonants 
giving  almost  an  Italian  sound  to  his  pronunciation  of  the 
last  word,  "a  security  of  the  value  of  ^500,  which  I  shall 
be  happy  to  tender  you  in  payment  of  my  debt.  Not  a 
word  !  "  he  continued  quickly,  and  with  a  deprecatory  wave 
of  his  hand,  on  seeing  that  The  O'Mara  Molloy  was  about 
to  interrupt  him.  "  Not  a  word  !  I  am  aware  that  the 
value  is  greater  by  two-fifths  than  the  amount  of  my  debt ; 
but  I  waive  the  difference,  sir,  I  waive  the  difference.  Do 
you  accept  my  offer  ?  " 

Surprise  is  not  an  emotion  which,  as  a  rule,  depicts  itself 
with  facility  on  the  countenance  of  a  man  who  has  con- 
sumed a  bottle  and  a  half  of  trade  rum  ;  but  it  was  plainly 
visible  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Quillitt  when  the  Prime  Minister 
of  Porcolongu  for  all  answer  produced  a  little  sheaf  of  the 
Consul's  I.O.U.'s,  and,  tossing  them  to  him  across  the  table, 
deliberately  folded  up  the  draft  treaty  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 


THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU.      127 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  muttered  Mr.  Quillitt  to  himself,  half 
sobered  by  his  astonishment.  "  He  is  more  drunk  than  I 
imagined.  Ought  I  to  take  such  an  advantage  of  him  ?  " 

Promptitude  of  decision  in  difficult  circumstances  is 
second  nature  to  a  diplomatist,  and  the  Consul  instan- 
taneously decided  that  he  ought.  He  had  sufficient  com- 
mand of  himself  to  make  the  dignified  bow  of  a  man  who 
is  conscious  of  conferring  a  favour,  but  is  too  generous  to 
grudge  it. 

The  Prime  Minister  finished  his  glass  and  took  his  leave, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  his  host,  after  carefully  removing  all  his 
clothing  with  the  exception  of  one  boot,  retired  meditatively 
to  rest. 

On  awaking,  his  head  (save  that  it  ached  consumedly) 
contained  no  record  of  the  previous  night's  proceedings.  A 
glance,  however,  at  his  open  desk,  and  at  his  I.O.U.'s  lying 
on  the  table,  struck  dully  on  one  of  the  slack  chords  of  his 
memory,  and  he  slowly  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture  in 
bed,  the  better  to  view  the  situation.  Yes  :  there  was  no 
doubt  of  it.  He  had  re-sold  the  useless  treaty  to  its  author 
— useless  even  if  the  French  designs  on  Porcolongu  were  not 
pure  inventions  of  his,  because  Downing  Street  had  so 
peremptorily  rejected  it — and  had  extinguished  a  debt  of 
three  hundred  pounds  by  the  transaction.  Decidedly  the 
illustrious  Irishman  must  have  been  very  far  gone  in 
liquor.  Indeed,  now  that  Mr.  Quillitt  set  to  work  to  recall 
his  speech  and  manner,  it  occurred  to  him  that  seldom  in 
the  whole  course  of  his  life  had  he  seen  a  man  more  hope- 
lessly intoxicated.  His  diplomatic  conscience  assured  him 
that  he  had  done  right  in  taking  advantage  of  the  Prime 
Minister's  unguarded  condition  of  mind  in  order  to  rid 


128  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

himself  of  his  bad  bargain.  He  accordingly  went  about  his 
not  very  onerous  official  duties  that  day  as  composedly  as 
Socrates  on  the  morning  after  the  Symposium,  and  it  was 
not  till  nearly  nightfall  that  the  blow  fell.  The  western 
waters  were  glowing  in  all  the  glory  of  a  Pacific  sunset 
when  a  telegram  was  placed  in  the  Consul's  hands,  but  only 
to  fall  helplessly  from  them  the  moment  its  contents  were 
read :  "  Renew  negotiations  instantly  treaty  alliance  pro- 
tectorate Porcolongu.  Assure  King  sympathy  support  British 
Government.  Despatch  follows" 

The  Pacific  Ocean  swam  before  Mr.  Quillitt's  agitated 
eyes.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  brow,  and  leaned  against  the 
wattled  wall  of  Government  House  for  support.  What  did 
it — what  could  it  mean  ? 

He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  the  explanation.  Early  next 
morning  he  received  a  private  despatch  from  a  somewhat 
highly-placed  friend  in  the  Foreign  Office  in  these  terms  : 
" Liberals  out  on  Conservative  amendment  four  acres  cow.  ,$/. 
Jingo  back  again.  Congratulate  you." 

St.  Jingo  back  again  !  All  was  clear,  and  Mr.  Quillitt  was 
ready  to  tear  the  few  remaining  locks  from  his  head  in  dis- 
gust at  his  own  impatient  folly.  There  was  but  one  thing 
to  be  done.  The  treaty  must  be  re-purchased  from  The 
O'Mara  Molloy  if  it  cost  the  Consul  all  the  savings  of  his 
official  life  to  do  it.  But  caution  (diplomatic  caution)  was 
necessary.  It  would  never  do  to  allow  the  astute  Poly- 
nesian statesman  to  suspect  that  his  friend  had  any  very 
important  object  to  gain  in  attempting  to  repossess  himself 
of  the  draft  treaty. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Mr.  Quillitt  to  himself  after  a  few 
moments'  cogitation.  "  I  will  pretend  that  it  was  I  who 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOLOXGU.      129 

was  drunk,  and  that  I  only  handed  him  over  the  treaty  in  a 
tipsy  freak,  which  I  understood  him  to  be  merely  humouring 
— as  a  sober  man — ha  !  ha  ! — will  occasionally  do  with  an 
intoxicated  companion.  Yes,  it  would  certainly  be  better 
to  pretend  that  I  took  too  much  last  night."  And  full  of 
this  profound  project  of  dissimulation  he  betook  himself  to 
the  Prime  Minister's  shanty. 

"  Molloy,"  he  said,  with  his  most  diplomatic  assumption 
of  carelessness,  "  do  you  know  I  am  afraid  I  rather  exceeded 
the  bounds  of  moderation  the  other  night,  when  you  made 
such  an  example  of  me  at  ecarte." 

"  Not  a  bit,  me  boy,  not  at  bit,"  replied  the  Prime 
Minister  cheerfully.  "  I  never  saw  you  play  a  better  game. 
Luck  was  against  ye,  that  was  all." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  the  game, — that  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Quillitt, 
still  outwardly  indifferent,  though  his  anxiety  deepened 
apace  at  the  line  which  his  companion  was  taking  ;  "  I  can 
play  ecarte  well  enough,  however  far  gone  I  am.  What  I 
am  thinking  of  is  not  how  I  played,  but  how  I  paid.  It  was 
a  foolish  trick  of  me  to  square  accounts  with  you  by  handing 
back  that  treaty." 

"  A  foolish  thrick  ye  call  it,"  said  his  Excellency  calmly. 
"And  hwhy,  pray?" 

"  Well — er — er — well,  my  dear  fellow — for  a  diplomatist 
— you  know — eh  ? — to  part  with  a  document  like  that — a 
public  document — it  would  be  thought  rather — eh?" 

"  Bedad,  sorr,  I  should  have  supposed  it  would  have  been 
thought  a  divilish  deal  more  foolish  thrick  for  a  Prime 
Minister  to  buy  back  such  a  documint,"  said  the  other, 
looking  at  the  Consul  through  half-closed  eyes  ;  "  a  threaty 
which  your  Government  declines  to  execute." 

jr.  L.-XV. 


130  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

"  Exactly,  precisely,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Quillitt,  catching 
eagerly  at  the  new  pretext  thus  offered  to  him.  "  I  never 
supposed  you  were  serious  in  accepting  it  from  me.  I 
thought  you  were  merely  humouring  a  friend  who  had  had 
a  drop  too  much.  I  couldn't  think  of  holding  you  to  so 
absurd  a  bargain  ;  so  I  have  brought  you  back  my  I.O.U.'s," 
producing  them  from  his  pocket,  "and  if  you've  got  the 
treaty  handy  we'll  swop  at  once." 

"  Misther  Quillutt,"  said  his  Excellency,  drawing  himself 
up  with  his  stateliest  air,  "  I  don't  understand  ye.  I'm 
perfectly  sathisfied  with  me  bargain,  and  mean  to  abide 
by  ut." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  Consul,  with  increasing  agitation. 
"  You  can't  be  serious — impossible.  The  whole  thing  was 
a  joke.  You  couldn't  have  meant  to  have  let  me  off  a 
debt  of  nearly  three  hundred  pounds  for  the  recovery  of  a 
worthless " 

"  Worthless  !  "  cried  the  Irishman,  bursting  into  a  laugh. 
"  Then  hwhy  the  divil  d'ye  want  ut  back  ?  " 

Mr.  Quillitt  made  no  answer.  Obviously  there  was  none 
which  he  could  make  without  deciding  upon  the  pitiable 
diplomatic  expedient  of  telling  the  truth. 

"  Molloy,"  he  said,  after  a  few  m'oments  of  discomfited 
pause,  "  you're  too  many  for  me,  at  diplomacy  as  well  as  at 
ecart'e.  Look  here,  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,"  and  he 
put  his  last  official  telegram  into  the  Prime  Minister's  hand. 
"You  see  now,"  he  continued  eagerly,  "why  I  want  that 
treaty  back  again.  It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  my 
official  future  to  recover  and  execute  it  on  behalf  of  the 
British  Government.  And  I'm  sure,  as  an  old  friend, 
Molloy,  you'll  not  stand  in  my  way ;  even  if,"  he  added,  with 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOLONGU,     131 

a  keen  glance  at  his  companion,  "  even  if  you  have  at  the 
moment  some  other  political  combination  in  your  head." 

Mr.  Quillitt  stopped  for  a  moment  to  see  whether  this 
last  remark  of  his  would  elicit  any  disclaimer.  But,  none 
coming,  he  resumed  his  solicitations  with  increased  anxiety. 

"  See  here,  my  dear  fellow,  here  are  my  I.O.U's.  Take 
them  back  again.  No,  no  !  You  must — I  insist !  "  ex- 
claimed the  Consul,  as  he  almost  forced  them  into  the 
Prime  Minister's  palm.  "  And  if  a  cheque  for  another  two 
or  even  three  hundred  is  necessary  to  arrange  the  business, 
it  shall  be  forthcoming.  But  I  must  get  that  treaty  back 
again,  and  execute  it  on  behalf  of  my  Government  at 
once." 

But  still  his  Excellency  made  no  sign.  He  was  plunged 
in  reflection  so  profound  that  Mr.  Quillitt  had  time  to  get 
out  his  cheque-book  in  great  agitation,  and  to  insinuate 
between  the  statesman's  fingers  a  cheque  for  a  substantial 
sum  before  he  roused  himself  from  his  reverie. 

"  Misther  Quillutt,"  he  then  said,  at  the  same  time 
absently  folding  up  the  slip  of  paper  which  had  been  pressed 
upon  him ;  "  Misther  Quillutt,  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  ye. 
But  it's  impossible  for  the  treaty  to  be  executed  to-day." 

"  Impossible  !     Why  ?  " 

"  I  must  consult  hus  Majesty." 

"  Consult  a  rum-cask  !  Come,  come,  my  dear  Molloy. 
We  are  augurs  of  long  enough  standing  to  permit  ourselves 


"  Enough,  sorr  !  "  interrupted  the  Minister,  with  dignity. 
"  It's  absolutely  necessary  to  lay  the  matter  before  his 
Majesty.  Come  again  to-morrow." 

"  But  why  not  submit  it  to  him  to-day  ?     The  Palace  is 


132  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

only  a  step  from  here,"  said  the  Consul,  glancing  through 
the  window  of  the  Minister's  study  at  its  sun-baked 
walls. 

"  His  Majesty,"  said  The  O'Mara  Molloy,  "  is  not  yet  in 
a  condition  to  grant  me  an  audience.  Herr  Wolkenkopf 
attended  at  the  Palace  the  day  before  yesterday  to  show 
the  king  a  sample  of  some  remarkably  fine  old  schnapps 
which  he  had  just  received  from  a  relation  at  Amsterdam, 
and  his  Majesty,  I  understand,  does  not  intend  to  resume 
official  or  ceremonial  duties  until  to-morrow." 

To  this,  of  course,  there  was  nothing  to  be  said,  and  Mr. 
Quillitt  accordingly  took  his  leave,  in  some  disquietude  of 
mind.  Some  hundred  yards  from  the  Ministry  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  he  happened  to  turn  round  arid  look  back — just  in 
time  to  see  a  figure  disappearing  rapidly  through  its  open 
door. 

It  was  impossible  to  mistake  those  elegant  proportions — 
M.  de  Chauvin  ! 

A  dark  suspicion  shot  through  the  Consul's  breast,  and 
passing  downwards  like  a  charge  of  electricity  rooted  his 
feet  to  the  earth.  Could  this  be  the  explanation  of  the 
Minister's  having  so  readily  bought  back  the  treaty  ?  Could 
it  be  that  he  had  another  purchaser  for  it  in  his  business- 
like eye?  Was.it  possible  that  the  hereditary  enemy  of  the 
Saxon  was  about  to  strike  a  blow  (for  a  consideration)  at  the 
secular  oppressors  of  his  race,  and  that,  in  plain  prose,  The 
O'Mara  Molloy  had  been  squared  by  the  French  ? 

Painfully  revolving  these  agitating  questions  in  "his  mind, 
Mr.  Quillitt  walked  slowly  homeward,  to  pass  the  most 
unquiet  night  that  ever  beat  out  its  lagging  hours  in  a 
sleepless  brain.  At  noon  next  day  he  betook  himself,  in 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOLONGU.      133 

full  official  costume,  to  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs,  but 
only  to  find  to  his  intense  anxiety,  and  even  alarm,  that  the 
Prime  Minister  was  not  to  be  seen.  He  had  set  off  early 
in  the  morning,  his  private  secretary  said,  by  his  Majesty's 
special  command,  to  visit  one  of  the  distant  islands  of  the 
group. 

Mr.  Quillitt  now  began  to  feel  more  and  more  convinced 
that  he,  and  probably  Porcolongu,  was  being  sold.  Having 
satisfied  himself,  however,  that  the  private  secretary  had 
told  him  the  truth,  and  that  his  Excellency  had  really 
departed  on  the  alleged  journey,  he  was  fain  to  seek  such 
reassurance  as  he  could  gather  from  the  reflection  that, 
unless  the  mischief  was  done  already — a  thought  at  which 
the  spinal  column  of  the  Consul,  from  the  cerebellum 
downwards,  underwent  the  sensation  commonly  produced 
by  the  cold-water  jet  of  the  shampooer — no  negotiation  with 
M.  de  Chauvin  could  take  place  till  the  Prime  Minister's 
return. 

A  day  passed  ;  two,  three,  a  week,  and  no  Prime  Minister. 
But  instead  thereof,  another  cipher  telegram  from  Downing 
Street,  which  brought  out  a  light  dew  of  perspiration  on 
Mr.  Quillitt's  brow.  Thus  it  ran:  "  News  received  French 
ironclad  left  Noumea  destined  probably  Porcolongu.  Inform 
Foreign  Office  immediately  whether  treaty,  concluded"  In 
desperation,  Mr.  Quillitt  telegraphed  back  :  "  Negotiations 
still  pending.  Hope  conclude  treaty  this  week."  This  done, 
it  occurred  to  him,  as  the  only  step  he  could  take  in 
The  O'Mara  Molloy's  absence,  that  he  might  pay  a  visit  to 
Herr  Wolkenkopf,  and  after  ascertaining  whether  he,  with 
his  usually  excellent  information,  had  heard  anything  of  this 
reported  French  movement,  endeavour  to  enlist  his  support 


I34  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

in  resisting  the  piratical  policy  of  M.  de  Chauvin's  Govern- 
ment. 

He  found  the  German  Consul  with  his  microscope  before 
him,  and  his  note-books  around  him,  calmly  arranging  his 
specimens. 

"  Wolkenkopf,  my  good  soul,"  said  Quillitt,  in  that  kindly 
but  slightly  patronising  tone  in  which  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  addressing  the  dreamy  savant,  "  what  do  you  say  to  this 
report  just  transmitted  to  me  from  my  Government  ? " 
And  he  read  out  the  alarming  telegram. 

"What  say  I,  mine  friend?"  said  the  Herr,  looking 
placidly  at  him.  "  But  what  then  should  I  say  ?  You 
know  better  as  I  whether  your  Government  true-speaks  or 
not." 

"Nonsense,  Wolkenkopf;  don't  trifle  with  me.  People 
can  only  be  sure  of  speaking  the  truth  when  they  know  the 
truth,  and  our  Government  never  knows  anything.  You 
know  that." 

"  Do  you  not  say  we  know  everything  in  Berlin,  dear 
Herr  Consul  ?  "  said  the  German,  beaming  with  mild  satire 
through  his  spectacles.  "  And  many  people  who  know  not 
everything  know  so  much  as  you  last  said." 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  of  this  naval  movement  of 
the  French  from  the  sources  of  information  from  which  you 
heard  of  their  political  designs  ?  You  still  have  access  to 
those  sources,  I  suppose  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Quillitt,  sharply,  for 
he  was  gradually  getting  to  suspect  everybody. 

"  Yes-well,"  replied  Herr  Wolkenkopf.  "  Through  them, 
mine  friend,  I  hear  nothing.  I  believe  not,  so  I  may  my 
own  information  trust,  that  any  French  ironclad  is  coming 
here  at  all." 


THE   PROTECTOR  ATI-.    OF  PORCOLONGU.      135 

"  Ha !  "  exclaimed  the  British  Consul,  greatly  relieved. 
"  I  am  right  glad  to  hear  you  say  so  ;  I  hoped  myself  that 
the  danger  was  not  quite  so  imminent  as  that.  But  still,  I 
think  there  is  danger  of  a  French  annexation,  don't  you, 
Wolkenkopf  ?  You  won't  undertake  to  say  that  my  Govern- 
ment may  lay  aside  its  anxieties  on  that  point,  altogether  ? 
Eh?" 

"  No,  dear  Herr,"  said  the  man  of  science,  carefully 
focussing  a  specimen  while  he  applied  his  eye  to  the  tube  of 
his  microscope.  "  No,  dear  Herr,  I  would  not — go — quite 
— so  far  as  that.  I  would  not  so — undertake  to  limit — 
here  followed  a  rather  long  pause,  during  which  the  brass 
screw  of  the  focussing  gear  revolved  now  forward  now  back- 
ward, through  minute  and  ever-lessening  arcs,  between  the 
naturalist's  finger  and  thumb — "  to  limit  " — and  here  he 
looked  up  with  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  successful  conclusion 
of  the  delicate  operation  he  had  been  engaged  in — "  the 
enterprising  instincts  of  la  gr-r-rande  nation." 

"  Herr  Wolkenkopf,"  said  Mr.  Quillitt  gravely,  "  you  are 
well  aware  that  I  share  your  suspicions.  I  am  convinced 
that  the  Government  of  the  French  Republic  entertain 
designs  upon  the  independence  of  this  group,  which,  unless 
a  firm  front  is  offered  to  them  by  the  representatives  of 
other  European  Powers,  will  very  shortly  be  realised. 
May  I— may  I  count  upon  your  support  in  my  endeavour 
to  counteract  them  ?  " 

Herr  Wolkenkopf  rose  from  his  chair,  replaced  his 
spectacles,  which  had  been  temporarily  removed  for  micro- 
scopic purposes,  on  his  nose,  and  gazing  through  them  with 
a  look  of  the  greatest  candour  and  benevolence  that  the 
human  countenance  is  capable  of  expressing,  replied,  "  Dear 


136  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

and  respected  colleague,  I  have  always  confided  in  your 
discretion,  nor  know  I  any  reason  why  I  should  now  con- 
ceal from  you  that  the  instructions  I  have  from  my  Govern- 
ment received,  direct  me  to  resist  any  P'rench  designs  on  the 
independence  of  Porcolongu  by  every  means  in  my  power.  I 
think  I  may  assure  you,  dear  Herr,  that  these  islands  will  not 
be  allowed,  if  it  is  any  way  possible  for  my  Government  to 
prevent  it,  to  pass  under  the  flag  of  the  French  Republic." 

Mr.  Quillitt  was  too  delighted  to  reply  in  words.  He 
could  only  grasp  his  German  colleague's  hand  by  way  of 
answer ;  and  he  took  his  leave  in  a  state  of  as  high  com- 
placency as  we  may  suppose  to  have  suffused  the  mind  of 
Sir  William  Temple  after  successfully  negotiating  the  Triple 
Alliance. 

Another  day  came  and  went  without  bringing  home  the 
truant  Minister.  On  the  evening,  however,  of  the  second 
day,  Mr.  Quillitt,  whose  house  commanded  a  view  of  the 
landing-stage,  and  who  accordingly  seldom  took  his  eyes 
from  it,  saw  The  O'Mara  Molloy  disembark  from  the 
Government  yacht,  which,  in  his  capacity  of  First  Lord  of 
the  Admiralty,  he  had  placed  at  his  own  service  as  First 
Lord  of  the  Treasury  of  Porcolongu,  and  walk  with  rapid 
steps  to  his  official  residence. 

"  Good,"  muttered  Mr.  Quillitt  to  himself.  "To-morrow, 
my  friend,  I  bring  you  and  your  royal  master  to  book." 

A  couple  of  hours  later  another  telegram  reached  him 
from  the  Foreign  Office,  thus  conceived  :  "  News  despatch 
French  ironclad  confirmed.  If  treaty  concluded  communicate 
it  French  Consul,  adding  British  Government  cannot  indiffer- 
ence vieiv  attack  independence  allied  Sovereign" 

"  H'm,"said  the  British  Consul  reflectively.    "  I'll  conclude 


THE  PROTECTORATE  OF  PORCOLONGU.      137 

the  treaty,  if  possible,  the  first  thing  to-morrow  morning, 
and  make  my  representations  to  De  Chauvin  immediately 
afterwards.  If  I  don't  succeed  in  concluding  the  treaty 
— if  that  Irish  rascal,  or  the  fuddled  savage  whom  he  serves 
and  sells,  is  playing  me  false — well,  I'll  associate  myself 
with  Wolkenkopf,  and  we'll  make  a  joint  representation  to 
the  Frenchman." 

Mr.  Quillitt  passed  a  quieter  night  than  he  had  had  for 
some  time  past,  and  rose  betimes  in  excellent  spirits.  His 
bedroom  window  looked  out  on  the  bay,  and  as  he  gazed 
across  its  sunlit  waters  upon  the  lustrous  expanse  of  ocean 
beyond,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  patriotic  pride  at  the  thought  that 
it  should  have  fallen  to  his  lot  to  plant  the  British  flag  on  a 
new  point  of  vantage  in  that  golden  world.  In  the  midst  of 
these  inspiring  reflections  Mr.  Quillitt's  eye  fell  upon  a 
distant  object  in  the  offing.  He  started  violently,  and  the 
hair-brush  fell  from  his  hand.  Its  place  was  instantly  filled 
by  a  powerful  binocular,  which  the  Consul  hastily  brought 
to  bear  on  the  approaching  vessel.  Yes,  there  was  no 
mistaking  its  squat  and  swarthy  hull,  its  ungainly  and 
forbidding  lines.  It  was  a  powerful  ironclad  steaming 
rapidly  towards  the  bay. 

Mr.  Quillitt  was  dressed  in  a  twinkling,  and  half-way  to 
the  Prime  Minister's  house  before  he  was  five  minutes  older. 
As  he  skirted  the  little  curve  of  shining  sand  which  had  to 
be  traversed  to  reach  it,  two  figures  caught  his  eye — one 
that  of  M.  de  Chauvin  striding  rapidly  in  the  direction  of 
the  Palace,  the  other  that  of  Herr  Wolkenkopf,  in  quite 
unofficial  costume,  a  palm-leaf  hat  on  his  head  and  satchd 
at  his  side,  dredging  away  as  tranquilly  as  though  there 
were  no  such  things  as  international  rivalries  in  the  world. 


138  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

Hurried  as  he  was,  the  British  Consul  halted  for  a 
moment  at  the  naturalist's  elbow.  "  Look,"  he  said,  thrust- 
ing the  binocular  into  the  other's  hand,  and  pointing  towards 
the  ironclad. 

Her  Wolkenkopf  calmly  inspected  the  approaching  vessel, 
and  returned  the  glass  to  its  owner  with  the  single  mono- 
syllable, "  Zo  ! " 

"  You  will  support  me,  Wolkenkopf,"  said  Mr.  Quillitt, 
pale,  but  firm,  "  in  protesting  against  this  act  of  piracy  on 
the  part  of  France  ?  " 

"  Mine  friend,"  replied  the  German,  quietly,  "  I  promise 
you  I  will  protest  against  anything  of  the  kind.  But  where 
go  you,  dear  Herr  ?  To  the  Minister's  ?  He  is  not  to  house. 
He  is  at  the  Palace  with  M.  de  Chauvin." 

"  At  the  palace  with  M.  de  Chauvin  ?  Then  there  is  not 
a  moment  to  be  lost.  Follow  me,  Wolkenkopf." 

And  hurrying  aross  the  court-yard,  Mr.  Quillitt  sprang  up 
the  broad  bamboo  staircase  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  dashed 
unceremoniously  into  the  audience-chamber. 

It  was  as  he  expected.  M.  de  Chauvin  and  The  O'Mara 
Molloy  were  seated  at  a  table  with  an  official-looking 
document,  which  the  Consul  recognised  at  a  glance,  before 
them.  A  treaty  !  with  the  royal  sign-manual  ("  A  week  old, 
no  doubt,"  thought  Quillitt  bitterly)  at  its  foot,  the  Prime 
Minister's  counter-signature  opposite,  and  the  ink  still  wet 
with  which  the  Frenchman  had  just  executed  it. 

"  What  means  this  inthrusion,  sorr  ? "  said  the  Prime 
Minister,  rising  with  dignity  from  his  chair. 

"You  infernal  swin But  stay,  my  first  business  is 

with  you,  M.  de  Chauvin.  Ah  !  here  is  Wolkenkopf.  In  the 
name,  Monsieur,  of  our  respective  Governments,  we  protest 


THE  PROTECTORATE   OF  PORCOLONGU.     139 

against  the  act  of  piracy  which —  He  waved  his  hand 

towards  the  window,  all  eyes  following  it,  but  stopped  dead 
in  the  tracks  of  his  remonstrance.  For  the  ironclad  had 
hove-to  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shore.  Up  flew 
her  colours  to  the  peak,  and  loud  exclamations  in  English, 
French,  and  Irish  broke  simultaneously  from  three  of  the 
persons  in  the  room. 

IT  WAS  THE  GERMAN  FLAG  ! 

The  three  ejaculators  turned  fiercely  on  their  silent  com- 
panion. Herr  Wolkenkopf  slowly  drew  a  document  from 
his  pocket,  and  opened  it  before  their  eyes.  All  recognised 
at  once  the  bold  but  simple  signature  "  x  Afseesova  II., 
his  mark."  But  the  treaty  was  not  countersigned  by  the 
Prime  Minister. 

"The  King,  sorr,"  exclaimed  the  descendant  of  kings, 
"  has  been  guilty  of  a  gross  braych  of  the  Consthitution. 
Your  threaty  is  not  worth  the  paper  ut's  written  on !  " 

" No ! "  said  the  Herr  placidly.  "  But  that"  pointing 
through  the  window  at  the  surly  visitor  in  the  bay — "that 
is  worth  much  paper,  and  many  writings.  Not  true  ?  " 

The  Prime  Minister  and  the  British  Consul  owned  to 
themselves  that  it  was  true.  M.  de  Chauvin  audibly  attested 
his  consciousness  of  its  truth  by  execrating  "  the  name  of  a 
cabbage." 

"  But,"  cried  Mr.  Quillitt,  gradually  recovering  his  senses, 
"how  did  you — ?  when  did  he ?" 

"  Mine  friend,"  said  the  German,  looking  at  him  with 
benevolent  humour  in  his  mild  blue  eyes,  "  I  took  evening 
meal  with  his  Majesty  yesterday.  The  schnapps  was  sclwti, 
and " 

The  O'Mara  Molloy  sprang  forward  and  roughly  plucked 


140  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

aside  the  curtain  of  rush  matting  which  divided  the  audience- 
chamber  from  the  throne-room.  There  on  his  back  lay  the 
monarch  who,  like  Diocletian,  Charles  the  Fifth,  and  other 
weary  royal  souls  before  him,  had  with  his  own  hand 
divested  himself  of  the  burden  of  rule.  At  his  side  reposed 
three  black  bottles  of  a  quaint  shape.  They  were  perfectly 
empty,  but  the  legend  on  their  labels  showed  that  they  had 
contained  the  finest  Schiedam. 


THE    PROGRESS   OF    HUMANITY. 


Dr.  Juenemann  has  compounded  a  fluid  which,  in  his  opinion,  is  des- 
tined entirely  to  revolutionise  modern  warfare,  and  put  a  stop  to 
the  horrible  carnage  with  which  wars  are  at  present  inevitably 
conducted.  His  plan  is  to  burst  a  shell  containing  this  fluid,  which, 
on  liberation,  is  converted  into  a  gas,  under  the  effect  of  which 
every  living  being  within  a  considerable  space  becomes  unconscious, 
and  remains  so  for  Uvo  or  three  hours. 


NEAR  the  nineteenth  century's  closing 
(All  the  world  in  peace  reposing) 
Suddenly  the  rumour  ran, 
"  War's  grim  horrors,  felt  too  often, 
Good  Juenemann  will  soften  " 

(Please  pronounce  "  You-any-man  "). 

"  Now  he's  made  the  thing  a  study 
War  will  cease  from  being  bloody, 

And  will  only  cause  a  smell. 
Blessings,  then,  on  modern  science 
And  its  last  humane  appliance, 

The  Narcotic  Vapour  Shell ! 

"  Boom  of  gun  and  rifle's  rattle 
Shall  no  more  be  heard  in  battle 
Once  the  Doctor's  shell  has  burst ; 


142  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

All  the  interest  will  be  focussed 
On  the  question  who  are  hocussed 
By  their  adversaries  first. 

"  Softly  these  will  sink  to  slumber, 
While  their  weapons,  useless  lumber, 

At  their  feet  abandoned  lie  ; 
Which  secured  and  piled,  the  others 
Will  approach  their  sleeping  brothers, 

And  restoratives  apply. 

"  '  Waken,  brethren,  foes  no  longer,' 
Stronger  thus,  and  ever  stronger, 

Will  arise  the  friendly  shout. 
'  Ended  ere  we'd  well  begun  it 
Is  the  fight ;  our  shell  has  won  it ; 

Now  be  yours  the  shelling  out.' 

"  Blessings  then  on  modern  science 
For  its  last  humane  appliance, 

And  on  him  who  framed  the  plan. 
War's  no  more  a  brutal  battue?' 
So  they  raised  a  stately  statue 

To  the  good  Juenemann. 

n. 

Years  rolled  on  and  times  grew  milder, 
All  the  primitive  and  wilder 

Human  passions  sank  to  rest ; 
And  the  public  admiration 
For  the  Doctor's  innovation 
Was  less  heartily  expressed. 


THE  1' ROCK  ESS  OF  HUMAMTY.  143 

Men  began  to  view  with  coldness 
One  who  with  such  callous  boldness 

Could  an  army  drug  by  stealth, 
Careless,  his  designs  pursuing, 
How  much  harm  he  might  be  doing 

To  that  army's  future  health. 

"  How  could  he,"  in  accents  fretful 
Murmured  they,  "  be  thus  forgetful, 

Wrapped  in  his  unscrupulous  art, 
That  the  rifle  or  the  sabre 
May  be  borne  by  men  who  labour 

With  affections  of  the  heart  ? 

"  Some  perchance  may  not  recover, 
All  of  them  are  bound  to  suffer 

In  the  body  or  the  mind, 
More  or  less,  from  that  reaction 
Which  narcotic  stupefaction 

Almost  always  leaves  behind." 

So  the  local  papers  trounced  him, 
Crowds  assembled  and  denounced  him 

Till  they  made  their  victim  flinch, 
Smashed  his  windows,  broke  his  image 
Mobbed  him  in  an  ugly  scrimmage, 

Threatened  him  with  Justice  Lynch. 

Then  the  conscience-stricken  Doctor 
Doubtful  whether  to  be  shocked  or 
Furious  at  his  altered  plight, 


144  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

Making  but  a  weak  contention 
For  his  devilish  invention, 
Gave  it  up  and  took  to  flight. 

Fled  beyond  his  country's  border, 
Entered  a  monastic  order 

.For  his  life's  remaining  span ; 
And,  from  all  his  fellows  parted, 
Lingered  on,  a  broken-hearted, 

Penitent  Juenemann. 


THE   BRUTES   ON   THEIR   MASTER. 

NO  one  seemed  disposed  to  break  the  silence :  "the  Fox 
surveyed  their  confusion  with  a  malicious  smile. 

"After  all,"  he  continued  carelessly,  the  company  still 
remaining  mute,  "  I  don't  know  that  it  matters  much  to 
me.  The  conditions  of  my  own  life  will  not  be  materially 
affected,  whatever  course  you  take." 

"  Not  affected  !  "  struck  in  the  Dog  quickly.  "  Oh,  come, 
that  is  a  little  too  much.  Why,  surely,  if  you  could  induce 
us  to  act  on  your  advice,  you  would " 

"  Allow  me  to  finish,  if  you  please,"  interrupted  the 
other,  with  a  touch  of  irritation.  "  I  should,  even  in  that 
case,  find  it  just  as  hard  a  matter  to  live  ;  I  should  be  shot 
and  trapped  instead  of  hunted,  that  is  all.  Nay,  I  might, 
perhaps,  be  worse  off,  as  some  people  would  consider  it, 
than  I  am  now.  For  I  am  told,  and  I  see  no  particular 
reason  to  doubt  it,  that  if  it  had  not  suited  Man  to  preserve 
us  for  the  purposes  of  sport,  our  race  would  long  since  have 
become  extinct.  By  detaching  the  Horse  and  Dog  from 
Man,  and  thus  rendering  the  fox-hunt  an  impossibility,  we 
should  in  fact  be  removing  the  main  factor  in  our  perpetua- 
tion." 

"  Why  are  you  trying  to  do  it  then  ?  "  inquired  the  Cat- 
lazily,  opening  one  eye  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  question. 

"  Why  ?  "  echoed  the  Fox,  with  impatience.     "  Because  I 

w,  L.-XV.  MS  ro 


146  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

hate  to  see  people  being  made  fools  of,  as  you  are ;  and 
because  I  would  rather  take  my  chance  of  fighting  for 
existence,  under  some  additional  disadvantages,  than  see 
the  simplicity  of  worthy  animals  abused  by  a  hypocritical 
oppressor." 

"  Ha  ! "  muttered  the  Cat.  "  A  disinterested  Fox  !  I 
appreciate  your  motives.  And,"  added  he,  dreamily,  "  I 
will  not  mention  the  word  c  chickens.'  " 

"  With  your  antecedents,  you  will  exercise  a  wise  dis- 
cretion in  not  doing  so,"  said  the  Fox  tartly ;  "  and  let  me 
tell  you,  my  friend,  that  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference 
to  me  whether  you  appreciate  my  motives  or  not.  My 
appeal  is  made  to  animals,  not  only  of  a  superior  intelligence 
to  yours,  but  of  a  far  higher  morality  than  you  have  ever 
shown  yourself  capable  of  conceiving." 

The  Cat  returned  no  answer  to  this  taunt.  He  was 
asleep. 

After  a  short  pause,  during  which  the  Dog  appeared  lost 
in  painful  reflection,  the  Fox,  in  a  still  more  insinuating 
tone,  resumed. 

"  It  is,"  he  said,  "  precisely  because  I  entertain  so  sincere 
a  respect  for  that  combination  of  moral  and  intellectual 
qualities  which  I  find  in  you,  and  in  our  friend  the  Horse, 
here,  that  I  have  thought  it  worth  my  while  to  lay  these  pro- 
posals of  mine  before  you.  It  needs  nothing  less  than  that 
combination  of  qualities  to  enable  you  to  be  of  any  real 
service  to  us.  We  are  all  of  us,  as  I  hold,  either  persecuted, 
or  exploited,  or  in  some  way  or  other  ill-used  bv  Man.  To 
every  one  of  us  he  plays  the  part  either  of  open  enemy,  .or 
designing  patron,  or  treacherous  comrade,  as  the  case  may 
be.  But  some  among  us,  as,  for  instance,  that  poor  silly 


THE  BRUTES  ON  THEIR  MASTER.  147 

thing  there,"  with  a  sidelong  glance  of  contempt  at  the 
Sheep  hard  by,  "  are  both  morally  and  mentally  too  weak 
to  offer  any  resistance.  Others,  though  not  wanting  in  in- 
telligence, strength,  or  courage,  are  unfortunately  so  situated 
as  to  be  unable  to  render  any  effective  help  to  the  common 
cause.  Others,  again,  though  intellectually  well  fitted  to 
devise  a  plan  of  revolt,  and  even  to  direct  its  execution, 
have  not  been  fortunate  enough,  for  some  reason  or  other," 
— here  the  Fox  coughed  with  an  air  of  constraint — "  to  win 
the  confidence  of  their  fellow  brutes.  The  Dog  and  the 
Horse,  however,  fulfil  all  the  conditions  required  in  leaders 
of  a  movement  of  emancipation.  They  have  wit  enough  to 
see  through  Man's  pretences  to  virtue,  moral  sense  enough 
to  be  disgusted  at  his  baseness,  and  more  power  of  annoying 
and  injuring  him  than  all  the  rest  of  us  put  together. 
What  say  you,  then  ?  \\ftll  you  join  in  the  league  of  the 
lower  animals,  as  my  lord  call  us,  against  him  ?  " 

"  Not  I  ! "  replied  the  Dog  promptly,  all  his  doubts 
dispersed  at  once  by  the  mere  shock  of  the  proposal.  "  Not 
I !  He's  far  too  good." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  Horse,  though  with  less  enthusiasm. 
"  He's  much  too  strong." 

"  Too  strong ! "  echoed  the  Dog  reproachfully.  "  Is  that 
all  ?  I  thought  you  loved  him  as  I  do." 

The  Horse  looked  mildly  at  him  for  a  moment  before 
replying. 

"  I  never  said  I  did  not,"  he  added  presently.  "  But 
perhaps  I  see  more  of  his  strength  than  you  do." 

"  I  have  more  respect  for  your  objection  at  any  rate 
than  for  his,"  said  the  Fox,  in  a  slightly  contemptuous  tone, 
"  but  there  is  nothing  in  it.  You  don't  suppose  that  I  ad- 


148  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

vocate  anything  like  open  resistance  to  our  tyrant.  I  quite 
admit  that  he  is  too  strong  to  allow  any  chance  of  success 
for  that.  No,  what  I  mean  is  that  Man  is  dependent 
upon  you  for  a  vast  number  of  willingly  rendered  services  ; 
that  he  relies  and  has  to  rely  in  a  hundred  matters  on  the 
unforced  zeal  and  docility  of  the  Horse,  and  that  were  he 
suddenly  to  lose  the  benefit  of  these  qualities,  and  find 
himself  unable  to  get  any  more  out  of  the  Horse  than  he 
could  wring  from  him  by  absolute  physical  compulsion 
incessantly  applied,  he  would  find  the  situation  intoler- 
able." 

"  So  should  we,  I  expect,"  said  the  Horse  drily. 

"  No  doubt  it  would  be  disagreeable  to  you  for  a  time," 
admitted  the  Fox.  "  But  with  your  well-known  fortitude 
you  could  surely  tire  him  out.  Besides,  you  continually 
have  not  only  his  comfort  at  your  disposal  but  his  life  in 
your  power.  Think  of  the  number  of  necks  you  might 
break  by  concerted  action  in  a  single  day." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do,  however,"  said  the 
Dog.  "  For  what  services,  pray,  is  Man  so  dependent  upon 
me  ?  I  should  think  he  could  make  a  shift  to  do  without 
hunting,  and  he  seems  to  like  shooting  best  without  me. 
What  could  /do  to  injure  him  ?  " 

"  This  is  mere  affectation,"  sneered  the  Fox.  "  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  you  are  as  necessary  to  Man  in  one 
way  as  the  horse  is  in  another.  He  wants  toys  no  less  than 
-tools,  and  you  are  toys  to  which  he  has  become  so  accus- 
tomed that  he  could  not  do  without  you.  Affection  he  calls 
his  feeling  for  you,  and  you  no  doubt  are  weak  enough  to 
believe  him.  But,  anyhow,  you  have  grown  into  a  habit  with 
him,  and  it  would  throw  the  whole  human  race  into  selfish 


THE  BRUTES  ON  THEIR  MASTER.  149 

consternation  to  learn  some  fine  morning  that  no  Dog  would 
ever  again  lick  man's  hand." 

There  was  a  diabolical  twinkle  in  the  Fox's  eye  as  he 
uttered  these  words,  but  his  tact  told  him  the  next  moment 
that  he  had  gone  too  far.  The  last  suggestion  seemed  to  fall 
upon  the  Dog  like  a  blow.  He  winced,  and  rose  instantly 
to  his  feet. 

"  I  will  wish  you  good-night !  "  he  said  coldly.  "  It  is  no 
use  my  staying  here  any  longer.  Nothing  in  the  world 
should  induce  me  to  do  what  you  ask." 

"  Sit  down  again,  pray,"  said  the  Fox  earnestly,  "  and 
listen  to  me.  I  don't  expect  you  to  do  what  I  am  asking 
you  as  long  as  your  feelings  towards  Man  remain  what  they 
are.  But  surely  I  have  already  said  enough  to  show  you 
how  misplaced  is  your  regard  for  him.  What !  not  when  I 
mention  that  ugly  word  again  ?  " 

The  Dog  shuddered  slightly,  but  remained  silent. 

"  Not  when  I  mention  vivisec " 

"  No,"  said  the  Dog,  in  a  tone  almost  of  irritation.  "  I 
wish  to  hear  no  more  about  that.  It  ought  to  be  enough  for 
you  to  know  that  it  doesn't  in  any  degree  alter  my  feelings 
towards  Man." 

"Oh,  that's  impossible,"  replied  the  Fox  coolly.  "Or 
at  least,  if  it  is  possible,  you  must  be  in  one  sense  as  great 
an  impostor  as  he  is.  What  is  the  good  of  Man's  having 
elevated  your  moral  nature  as  he  pretends  to  have  done  ? 
What  is  the  use  of  his  having  developed  all  the  virtues  in 
you  if  you  can't  feel  now  that  your  patron's  vile  heartless- 
ness  and  hypocrisy  deprive  him  of  all  title  to  respect  ?  Why, 
even  that  wretched  Rabbit  there,  who  cowers  clown  when  I 
merely  mention  his  name,  even  he  has  conscience  enough 


ISO  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

to  appreciate  the  villainy  of  vivisection,  if  he  has  not 
sufficient  force  of  character  to  condemn  it.  His  brother 
was  netted  along  with  several  friends  and  sold  to  a  vivisector. 
He  witnessed  the  whole  performance  in  the  person  of  one  of 
his  friends  before  fortunately  making  his  own  escape.  Hi ! 
Bunny  !  tell  us  what  you  think  of  cutting  rabbits  up  alive." 

The  Rabbit  glanced  timidly  round  him  as  though  afraid 
of  being  overheard,  and  then  replied,  in  a  hurried,  trembling 
whisper  : 

"I  don't  know.  Don't  ask  me.  It's  bad — very  bad. 
But — but  my  mother's  hind  legs  were  broken  with  a  shot 
yesterday,  and  she  has  just  crawled  home.  She's  lying  over 
there  behind  the  hedge.  I'm  not  sure  shooting  ain't  worse 
than  the  other." 

"  You're  a  fool !  "  said  the  Fox,  somewhat  disconcerted  at 
this  display  of  independent  judgment  on  the  Rabbit's  part. 
"  The  sportsman  kills  outright  a  dozen  times  for  once  that 
he  wounds.  But  the  very  object  of  the  other  wretch  is  to 
keep  his  victim  alive  as  long  as  he  can.  Besides,  that  isn't 
the  worst  part  of  the  matter  by  any  means.  Who  cares  what 
happens  to  us, — you,  Bunny,  I  mean,  and  me  ?  Man  has 
never  pretended  to  be  our  friend ;  he  dislikes  me  and  he 
despises  you.  If  he  ever  condescends  to  do  anything  but 
shoot  you  k  is  only  to  put  you  into  a  hutch  as  a  toy  for  his 
children.  You  rank  merely  as  a  larger  sort  of  guinea-pig  or 
white  mouse  ;  while  as  for  me,"  continued  the  Fox,  signifi- 
cantly, "well,  he  has  never  tried  to  make  a  friend  of  me — 
not  much.  And  between  ourselves  he  is  not  far  wrong. 
Anyhow  he  is  welcome  to  vivisect  me,  when  he  can  take  me 
alive  and  persuade  me  to  lie  quietly  on  the  operating  table 
without  trying  a  previous  experiment  in  vivisection  on  my 


THE   BRUTES  ON   THEIR   MASTER.  151 

own  account."  And  here  Reynard  bared  his  formidable 
rows  of  teeth  in  an  extremely  sinister  grin.  "  To  cut  up  a 
fox  or  a  rabbit  may  be  as  cruel  as  you  please,  but  you  can't 
exactly  call  it  base.  Even  to  operate  on  a  cat,"  added  the 
Fox,  evidently  not  sorry  to  deal  a  side  blow  at  his  satirical 
companion,  "  even  to  operate  on  a  cat,  domestic  animal 
as  he  is  called,  appears  to  me  to  be  much  the  same 
thing." 

"  What's  that  you're  saying  ?"  asked  the  Cat,  drowsily. 

u  I  was  saying,"  repeated  the  Fox  in  his  blandest  tones, 
"  that,  though  they  call  you  a  domestic  animal,  I  don't 
believe  that  you  feel  any  particular  affection  towards  Man, 
at  least  in  a  disinterested  way  ;  and  that  as  he  is  probably 
conscious  of  that,  he  is  more  or  less  justified  in  treating  you 
like  one  of  us.  What  do  you  think  about  it  yourself?  " 

"What  do  1  think  about  what?"  asked  the  Cat,  with  as 
much  impatience  as  he  was  capable  of  showing. 

"  Well,  do  you  feel  particularly  disgusted  at  the  thought 
of  Man's  putting  one  of  your  species  to  a  cruel  death  ?  " 

"  I  should  feel  particularly  disgusted  at  the  thought  of 
Man's  putting  me  to  a  cruel  death,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  more  so  at  its  being  done  by  Man  than  by  your 
natural  enemy,  the  Dog  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  more,"  said  the  Cat,  calmly.     "  Why  should  I  ?" 

"  Precisely  the  answer  I  expected,"  said  the  Fox,  with  a 
chuckle.  "  Then  if  you  feel  no  deeper  sense  of  injury,  no 
keener  throb  of  pain  at  being  tortured  by  Man  than  by  the 
Dog,  you  must  be  in  reality  as  far  apart  from  Man  as  we  are, 
and  he  is  under  no  obligation  to  treat  you  otherwise  than  as 
one  of  us.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  Cat,  upon  whom  a  fresh  "  exposition 


152  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

of  sleep  "  was  rapidly  gaining.  "  Nothing.  The  question 
has  no  interest  for  me." 

"  Exactly.  Then  you  may  go  to  sleep  again.  Man,  I 
say,  might  have  destroyed  or  tortured  us  all — foxes,  rabbits, 
sheep,  even  cats,  without  proving  anything  more  than  the 
hardness  of  his  heart — without  exhibiting  himself,  I  mean, 
as  an  ungrateful  and  treacherous  villain.  But  the  Dog,  his 
comrade  for  a  thousand  years,  the  friend  of  his  fireside,  the 
companion  of  his  walks,  the  guardian  of  his  flocks,  the 
sentry  in  his  house,  nay,  the  very  saviour  of  his  life  on  the 
snowfield  or  in  the  flood,  the  animal  whom  he  boasts  of 
having  raised  almost  to  equality  with  himself — that  Man 
should  torture  him  !  By  Heaven  !  "  cried  the  P'ox,  in  a 
well-simulated  outburst  of  honest  indignation,  "  it  is 
infamous  ! " 

There  was  another  silence,  broken  only  by  the  low  purr- 
ing of  the  Cat.  Upon  the  more  intelligent  members  of  the 
assembly  this  last  stroke  of  the  Fox's  had  not  been  without 
its  effect.  The  Dog  in  particular,  in  spite  of  the  firmness 
with  which  he  had  proclaimed  his  fidelity  to  Man,  was 
evidently  a  prey  to  very  strong  emotions  of  doubt  and  pain. 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  Man  often  does 
torture  the  Dog  in  this  way." 

"  Not  so  often  as  the  Rabbit,  it  is  true ;  but  why  ? 
Because  the  rabbit  is  cheaper,  no  other  reason.  In  the 
same  way,  no  doubt,  it  would  cost  a  man  less  to  cut  up 
children  of  his  own  begetting  than  to  have  to  buy  other 
people's ;  but  I  don't  think  the  economy  would  be  regarded 
in  that  case  as  a  sufficient  excuse.  That  Man  should  ever 
have  vivisected  the  Dog  at  all  is  enough  in  itself  to  brand 
him  as  the  vilest  creature  in  the  creation." 


THE  BRUTES  ON  THEIR  MASTER.  153 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Horse,  thoughtfully,  "  that  one 
is  quite  justified  in  saying  that  of  the  whole  race.  There 
are  brutes  of  course  among " 

"  There  are  what  ?  "  interrupted  the  Fox,  sharply. 

"  I — I — mean,"  said  the  Horse,  a  little  confused,  "  I 
mean  what  they  themselves  call  '  brutes.' " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  Fox,  in  a  tone  of  profound  bitterness.  "  I 
know  what  you  mean.  And  it  shows  how  completely 
domestication  has  alienated  your  sympathies  from  your  own 
people,  that  you  have  picked  up  the  very  cant  of  insult  from 
our  common  oppressor.  It  is  we  who  should  rather  stigma- 
tise unusual  cruelty  or  treachery  among  members  of  the 
brute  creation,  by  applying  to  its  author  the  name  of 
'  man.'  But  we  cannot  hope  to  rival  him  in  that  respect. 
A  tiger  would  gladly  make  a  mouthful  of  a  young  chamois, 
if  luck  threw  one  in  his  way.  But  to  prop  up  the  corpse  of 
the  nursing  mother  in  order  that  the  hungry  unweaned 
younglings  may  be  lured  within  reach  of  the  hunter — that  is 
a  thoroughly  '  human  '  performance,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Well,  call  them  what  you  will,"  said  the  Horse,  "  all 
men  are  not  as  cruel  as  some  men.  /  know  that  from 
experience,  sweet  as  well  as  bitter." 

"Ah,"  struck  in  the  Dog,  eagerly,  "then  you  are  not 
altogether  the  unwilling  slave  of  Man.  You  too  delight,  or 
you  have  delighted,  as  I  do,  in  his  company  and  service." 

A  light  gleamed  for  a  moment  in  the  dim,  patient  eyes  of 
the  Horse,  and  his  nostril  dilated  and  quivered.  "  I  did 
delight  in  it,"  he  said  proudly ;  "  I  am  a  thoroughbred,  and 
great  things  were  expected  of  me  once.  When  I  was  two 
years  old  I  carried  everything  before  me.  Yes,  I  have 
known  what  it  is  to  win  the  admiration  of  thousands  ;  and, 


154  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

what  is  better,  to  be  loved  and  cherished  by  a  few. 
Women  have  kissed  my  face  and  plaited  this  ragged  mane 
of  mine  in  ribbons ;  but  that  was  long  ago,  before  I  broke 
down.  My  life  is  very  different  now." 

"  How  do  you  live  now,  then  ?  "  asked  the  Dog. 

The  Horse  paused  a  moment  before  replying.  "  I  thought 
you  'knew,"  he  answered,  with  an  air  of  simple  dignity  very 
impressive  to  witness.  "  I  draw  a  cab." 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  cried  the  Fox,  who  was  perfectly  well 
aware  of  the  fact,  in  a  tone  of  wrathful  astonishment.  "And 
you  defend  this  race  !  What  black — what  base  ingratitude  ! 
Your  owner,  I  suppose,  had  won  thousands  by  you,  and 
could  not  spare  a  few  pounds  a  year  to  secure  a  comfortable 
retirement  for  one  who  had  done  so  much  for  him.  I  ask 
you,  is  there  any  act  of  meanness  which " 

"  Steady,  steady  !"  interrupted  the  Horse,  "  not  so  fast, 
please  !  My  owner  fully  intended  to  provide  for  me  for  life, 
and  actually  did  so  for  a  year  or  two,  but,  unfortunately  for 
me,  luck  went  against  him  on  the  turf,  and — well,  to  cut  a 
long  story  short,  I  passed  to  the  assignees  in  bankruptcy. 
But  I  believe  he  was  really  sorry  to  part  with  me,  and  his 
daughter  cried  bitterly  when  she  came  to  bid  me  good- 
bye." 

"Much  good  that  was,"  said  the  Fox  contemptuously. 
"  But,  however,  I  am  not  concerned  either  with  the  cruelties 
of  ignorant  men  or  with  the  heartlessness  of  the  luxurious 
and  self-indulgent  classes.  What  they  may  do  is  of  little 
consequence.  It  is  not  their  doings  which  have  caused  our 
friend  here,"  glancing  at  the  Dog,  "  to  doubt  whether  he 
has  not  been  mistaken  in  Man.  It  is  the  conduct  of  those 
who  profess  to  be  the  most  enlightened  and  humane  among 


THE  BRUTES  ON   THEIR  MASTER.  155 

their  species.  You  know  what  his  master  is,  don't  you  ?  " 
he  continued,  turning  from  the  Dog,  who  was  becoming 
painfully  agitated,  to  the  rest  of  the  company.  "  He  is  a 
well-known  vivisector." 

"  He  is — he  is  one  of  the  kindest  and  most  benevolent 
of  human  beings,"  interrupted  the  Dog  hastily.  "  He  is 
beloved  by  all  who  know  him." 

"  Except  rabbits,  I  presume,"  interjected  the  Fox,  drily. 
"  How  many  scores  do  they  tell  me  that  he  '  used  up  '  in  the 
course  of  last  year  ?  He  must  be  a  delightful  person  to  live 
with,  especially  if  one  happened  to  be  taken  ill  of  some 
interesting  disease." 

"  He  nursed  me  through  the  distemper  as  a  puppy,"  said 
the  Dog,  with  feeling.  "  All  through  one  night  he  sat  up, 
giving  me  egg  and  port  wine  every  two  hours.  I  should 
have  died  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him.  It  was  only  his  great 
skill  that  saved  me." 

"  Dear  me  !  how  good  of  him  !  "  said  the  Fox.  "  Probably 
yours  was  a:n  interesting  case,  then,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he 
learned  much  from  it.  He  did  not  pull  you  through  altogether 
though,  it  seems,"  and  the  speaker  glanced  significantly  at 
one  of  his  companion's  twitching  fore-legs. 

"  No,"  said  the  Dog  quietly.  "  The  distemper  has  left 
chorea  behind  it.  It  was  impossible  to  save  me  from 
that." 

"  Hoiv  do  you  knmv  that?"  asked  the  Fox,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  and  eyeing  the  other  with  a  devilish  leer. 

The  Dog  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  with  nothing  save 
pure  astonishment  in  his  limpid  hazel  eyes — "  What  on  earth 
do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Reynard  carelessly.     "  If  you  see  no 


I56  NUMBER   TWEN7Y. 

cause  for  suspicion  it  may  be  all  right ;  only,  a  scientific  man 
like  your  master  might  have  wanted  to  study  chorea,  and  so 
have  allowed " 

"  Stop  !  "  growled  the  Dog  fiercely.  "  Drop  that,  or  you 
and  I  will  fall  out." 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper,  my  precious  innocent,"  said 
the  Fox,  sweetly.  "  My  suggestion  seems  a  very  reasonable 
one  to  me.  I  start  with  the  assumption  that  your  master 
would  not  scruple  to  vivisect  you  if  the  supply  of  rabbits 
failed." 

"  Me  !  his  own  dog  ? "  said  the  Dog,  with  a  horror  and 
contempt  which  checked  further  utterance. 

"  No  !  not  his  own  dog  ?  "  inquired  the  Fox  with  affected 
surprise.  "  He  draws  the  line  there,  does  he  ?  Then  the 
greater  scoundrel  he  to  vivisect  other  people's  dogs.  The 
meanest  of  the  lost  curs  whom  he  picks  up  for  torture  has 
probably  had  some  one  who  loved  him.  ...  I  assume  of 
course  that  he  would  not  mind  vivisecting  other  people's 
dogs.  Would  he?" 

The  Dog  returned  no  answer.  He  did  not  feel  as  sure 
as  he  would  have  liked  to  feel  that  his  master  would  mind 
vivisecting  other  people's  dogs ;  and  the  Fox's  criticism  on 
that  act  seemed  to  him  to  throw  an  entirely  new  light  upon  it. 
Reynard  perceived  the  impression  he  had  made,  and  lost  no 
time  in  following  up  his  advantage. 

"What  business  have  you,"  he  went  on,  "  to  think  only 
of  yourself,  and  of  your  own  selfish  interests  ?  You  might  as 
well  be  a  cat,  for  all  that  I  can  see.  If  you  had  been 
elevated  as  much  as  that  humbug  Man  pretends  to  have 
raised  you,  you  would  think  of  the  race  at  large,  as  he  does, 
and  not  of  the  individual." 


BRUTES  ON  THEIR  MASTER.  157 

"  As  he  does  ?  "  said  the  Horse.  "  Oh,  but  that's  all 
nonsense.  Do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  Not  I,"  replied  the  Fox  disdainfully  ;  "  I  am  using  Man's 
own  cant,  that  is  all.  But  our  friend  here  swallows  it  all 
most  trustfully,  I  feel  sure,  don't  you  ?  You  believe  that 
Man  burns  with  disinterested  zeal  for  the  welfare  of  his 
race,  and  tha^  he  tortures  Bunny  and  Pussy  there  in  a 
spirit  of  pure  humanity — eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe— I  know  it,"  said  the  Dog  confidently. 
"  I  know,  at  any  rate,  that  my  master  is  incapable  of  inflict- 
ing pain,  except  with  a  benevolent  object.  I  have  heard 
him  say  that  by  the  sufferings  of  a  few  he  hopes  to  alleviate 
the  agony  of  thousands." 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  "  assented  the  Fox,  ironically.  "  But 
thousands  of  whom  ?  Dogs,  cats,  rabbits,  horses — or 
men  ?  " 

"  Not  of  men  only,"  said  the  Dog,  with  eagerness.  "  We 
lower  animals  are  as  much  interested,  so  Man  says,  in  the 
progress  of  scientific  research  as  himself;  and,  if  we  are 
called  upon  to  suffer,  it  is  for  the  alleviation  of  our  own " 

"  Fudge  !  "  cried  the  Fox  in  a  tone  of  the  bitterest  con- 
tempt. "  Don't  attempt  to  pass  off  that  sickening  stuff  upon 
us.  Do  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that  men  would  experi- 
ment on  living  animals  for  the  benefit  of  dogs  and  horses 
alone  ?  " 

The  Dog  did  not  suppose  so  for  a  moment,  and  was  too 
honest  to  pretend  that  he  did. 

"  Man  is  careful  enough  not  to  hurt  his  own  precious  skin 
in  these  investigations  of  his,"  continued  the  Fox. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Dog  quickly.  "  Some  men 
have  sacrificed  their  own  lives  to  their  experiments." 


158  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Well,  let  them  stick  to  that,  then,"  replied  the  Fox, 
"  and  we  won't  complain  of  them.  But  you  know  well 
enough  that  that  is  not  the  usual  way  of  it.  You  know  that 
what  the  vivisector  mostly  does  is  to  torture  scores  and 
hundreds  of  those  wretched  rabbits  for  no  other  object  than 
to  prolong  the  life  or  relieve  the  pains  of  the  race  of  beings 
who  shoot  away  Bunny's  legs  and  leave  him  to  die  by  inches 
in  a  hole.  Bunny  is  vastly  interested  in  that  object,  isn't 
he  ?  Don't  tell  me  that  the  men  who  sport  and  the  men 
who  torture  are  different  classes.  I  know  they  are ;  but  I 
know,  too,  that  the  men  who  torture  pretend  to  be  the  best, 
and  boast  that  mankind  is  gradually  being  raised — raised, 
if  you  please — from  the  level  of  the  hunter  up  to  their  own. 
That,  to  my  mind,"  continued  the  Fox,  shaking  his  head 
solemnly,  "  is  the  shocking  part  of  it.  But  it  makes  your 
course  all  the  clearer  for  you  domestic  animals,  as  you  call 
yourselves ;  and  I  say  that  a  very  heavy  responsibility  rests 
upon  you.  You  have  deserted  your  own  kith  and  kin,  and 
thrown  in  your  lot  with  Man ;  and  I  hold  that,  unless  you 
are  as  bad  as  he  is,  you  ought  to  cast  him  off  without 
hesitation  now  you  have  found  out  what  he  is.  Yes,"  said 
the  Fox,  collecting  his  forces  for  a  last  effort ;  "  if  you  find 
that,  as  he  approaches  what  he  believes  to  be  his  highest 
development,  he  becomes  more  hard-hearted,  more  treach- 
erous and  hypocritical,  more  destitute  of  ordinary  fidelity  to 
his  brute  comrades  than  he  was  in  his  lower  stages — I  say 
it  is  time  for  you  to  give  him  up  as  a  bad  job.  He  can't 
complain  if  you  do.  He  boasts  of  having  taught  you  the 
virtues,  and  he  must  expect  you  to  judge  him  by  his  own 
teachings.  Come,  for  the  last  time,  domestic  animals,  will 
you  abandon  Man  as  unworthy  of  your  society  and  service  ; 


THE  BRUTES  ON  THEIR  MASTER.  159 

or,  rather,  will  you,  Dog  and  Horse,  do  so  ?  for  to  you," 
turning  to  the  Cat,  "  I  know  it  is  vain  to  appeal." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  Cat,  "  and  therefore  you  need  not 
have  waked  me  with  your  gabble.  What  on  earth  has  man's 
unworthiness  got  to  do  with  the  matter?  All  I  want  to 
know  is  whether  I  can  better  myself  by  leaving  him,  and  I 
am  pretty  sure  I  can't.  Man  has  cream,  and  cold  fish,  and 
soft  hearth-rugs,  and  delightfully  padded  easy  chairs.  I 
know  nothing  pleasanter  to  rub  one's  side  against  than 
the  leg  of  his  trousers.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  in  the  fine 
spring  weather,  I  have  rambled  in  the  woods,  before  the 
young  birds  can  fly,  and  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
live  out  of  doors,  and  provide  for  oneself.  But  when  the 
winter  has  set  in  severely,  I  have  always  been  glad  to  get  back 
to  the  fire  ;  and  for  an  indoors  cat,"  he  added,  reflectively, 
"of  course  the  winter  is  all  the  better  for  being  severe,  because 
then  the  robins  are  not  afraid  to  come  on  the  window-sill." 

"  Ugh  !  "  said  the  Fox,  turning  from  him  with  disgust  to 
the  Horse  ;  "  is  there  anything  better  to  be  hoped  from 
you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  the  Horse  cheerily.  "  I  have  heard 
nothing  from  you  that  I  didn't  know  before.  I  have  never 
had  any  very  extravagant  opinion  of  Man's  virtues.  He  is 
rough  and  selfish,  and  loses  his  temper  about  trifles,  but 
there  is  good  in  the  fellow  at  bottom.  I  don't  mind  working 
with  him,  and 'for  him,  to  a  reasonable  extent,  and  I  cer- 
tainly prefer  his  society — if  you  will  excuse  my  frankness — 
to  yours,  or  that  of  any  other  of  the  lower  animals." 

"  Mean-spirited  wretch  !  "  muttered  the  Fox.  "  You  a 
thoroughbred !  However,  I  expected,"  he  continued, 
addressing  the  dog,  "  that  you  would  be  the  only  one 


160  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

capable  of  appreciating  my  appeal.  You  see  what  Man  is 
from  the  moral  point  of  view,  and  you — 

"  And  I  love  and  reverence  him,"  said  the  Dog  stoutly, 
"  as  much  as  ever.  Who  am  I  to  judge  him — I,  the  creature 
of  his  hand  ?  He  has  made  me  what  I  am,  and  all  I  have 
is  his.  He  is  greater,  stronger,  wiser  than  I,  and  I  must 
suppose  him  to  be  in  all  things  better  too.  If  anything 
done  by  him  seems  to  me  harsh  and  cruel,  I  will  believe 
that  it  only  seems  so  because  his  ways  are  beyond  the 
compass  of  my  weak  mind  to  comprehend." 

"Whew!"  whistled  the  Fox,  in  unconcealed  astonish- 
ment, as  the  Uog  and  Horse  walked  away  together.  "  He 
didn't  pick  up  that  language  from  his  scientific  master,  I'll 
be  bound.  But,  after  all,  I  needn't  be  surprised  at  his 
merely  talking  so,  when  they  tell  you  the  story  that  one  of 
those  fools  actually  raised  his  head  from  the  operating  table 
to  lick  his  master's  torturing  hand.  That  kind  runs  easily 
to  religion.  And  to  think  that  just  when  Man  has  suc- 
ceeded in  creating  the  religious  instinct  in  his  dog,  he  is 
losing  it  himself !  " 

Chuckling  hugely  at  the  reflection,  the  Fox  looked  round 
for  some  one  to  share  his  amusement,  when  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  features  of  the  sleeping  Cat. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  it 
is  convenient  to  be  wicked,  but  it  is  a  misfortune  to  be 
altogether  without  moral  sense.  Unless  you  understand 
the  difference  between  good  and  evil  you  will  miss  half  the 
joke  of  life." 


A   NEW   YEAR'S   VISION. 


FAR  on  the  outside  edge  of  things, 
Within  a  measurable  distance 
Of  those  Nineteen  Concentric  Rings 
That  gird  the  Realm  of  Non-existence, 

A  traveller  in  that  region  sees 

A  sort  of  Purgatorial  Limbo, 
Where  sits,  each  New  Year's  Day,  at  ease, 

A  cynic  Spirit,  arms  a-kimbo, 

With  many  thousand  spirit-clerks, 
Who  enter  in  their  shadowy  ledgers, 

Each  with  appropriate  remarks, 
The  vows  of  many  million  pledgers. 

The  books  are  kept  till  twelve  at  night, 
Then  closed  to  further  contributions, 

And  on  the  backs  these  words  they  write, 
"  New  Year,"  and  "  Virtuous  Resolutions." 

They  wrap  them  in  a  piece  of  sky, 
And  seal  them  up  for  safe  deposit, 

And  for  a  twelvemonth  let  them  lie 

Locked  in  the  Transcendental  Closet. 
w.  L.-XV.  lfil  n 


1 62  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

ii. 

I'm  told  that  on  the  thirty-first 

Of  every  following  December, 
To  hear  those  books'  contents  rehearsed 

Is — well,  is  something  to  remember. 

The  Chief  recites  the  righteous  deeds 

That  each  man's  virtuous  New  Year's  will  meant ; 

The  clerk  who  made  the  entry  reads 
Statistics  of  the  vow's  fulfilment. 

'Tis  said — I  do  not  vouch  it  true ; 

It  may  be  a  malicious  sally — 
That  on  comparison,  the  two 

Do  not  invariably  tally. 

Their  difference  causes,  'tis  believed, 

A  shock  to  optimistic  notions, 
And  its  discovery  is  received 

With  quite  a  mixture  of  emotions. 

Some  spirits  weep,  while  others  muse 
Like  surgeons  o'er  experience  clinic. 

The  Registrar's  acquired  the  views 
Of  an  incorrigible  cynic. 

'    And  'tis  from  that  contempt  unchecked 

Vor  all  mankind,  which  he  alleges, 
That  he  permits  me  to  inspect 

The  year's  new  batch  of  New  Year's  pledges. 


A   NEW  YEAR'S  VISION.  163 

in. 

Ay  !  here  they  are,  a  long  array, 

Close  written,  pages  upon  pages, 
With  countless  signatures  to-day 

Of  either  sex,  and  all  the  ages. 

The  sick,  the  well,  the  sage,  the  dunce, 

Of  every  rank  and  every  calling ; 
The  sinner  who  has  stumbled  once, 

The  sinner  who  is  always  falling. 

The  gay,  the  grave,  the  dull,  the  bright, 
The  wild,  the  mild,  the  weak,  the  able, 

The  statesman  on  the  Speaker's  right, 
The  statesman  from  across  the  table. 

The  lawyers,  doctors,  and  divines, 
The  will-be  wise,  and  would-be  witty  ; 

The  man  who  "  does  a  bit  in  mines  "  ; 
The  man  who's  "something  in  the  City." 

The  money-lender  and  the  heirs, 

The  callow  youths  with  expectations, 

The  beggars  and  the  millionaires, 

The  wealthy  aunts,  and  poor  relations. 

Jockeys,  and  journalists,  and  cooks, 
And  drunkards,  and  excessive  smokers, 

Tipsters  and  pigeons,  touts  and  rooks, 
Play-actors,  painters,  bankers,  brokers. 


164  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

IV. 

And  then  their  resolutions  !    Well ! 

You  couldn't,  had  you  seen,  forget  them. 
These  votaries  vowing  to  expel 

The  sin  that  chiefly  doth  beset  them. 

Conceive  the  "  party  man  "  self-bound 
To  steer  a  course  of  moral  beauty, 

And  grow,  before  the  year  comes  round, 
A  backbone,  and  a  sense  of  duty  ! 

The  Irish  patriot  pledged  to  curb 

The  tongue  that  runs  a  thought  too  gaily, 

And  "  do  with  "  one  expressive  verb 
And  three  "  descriptive  "  epithets  daily  ! 

The  preacher  eloquent,  self-shorn 
To  quarter-of-an-hourly  sermons ! 

The  scientific  person,  sworn 

To  own  his  borrowings  from  the  Germans  1 

The  high  financier,  self-confined 
To  undertakings  safe  as  churches ! 

The  smart  promoter  quite  resigned 

To  "  place  "  no  shares  he  wouldn't  purchase  ! 

The  bad,  in  short,  to  goodness  vowed, 

Irascibility  to  meekness, 
To  sweet  humility  the  proud, 

To  strength  and  honour  shame  and  weakness. 


A  NEW  YEAR'S   VISION.  165 

v. 

So,  as  I  close  the  book,  I  say, 

"  All  earnestly  though  men  assert  you, 

O  moral  promises-to-pay, 

And  I.O.U.'s  from  Man  to  Virtue, 

"  I  fear  that  when  the  day  comes  round 
(That  thirty-first  of  next  December), 

The  audit  will  again  be  found 

To  be — well,  something  to  remember. 

"  Yet  though,  one  knows,  fulfilment's  scope 

Can  hardly  equal  your  dimensions, 
It  still  would  be  but  kind  to  hope 

That  most  of  you,  O  Good  Intentions, 

"  Throughout  the  year  your  ground  may  hold, 

All  pressure  of  temptation  braving, 
And  relatively  few  be  sold 

By  contract,  for  infernal  paving." 


THE    GREAT    BAXTAIRS    SCANDAL. 

r  I  AHE  advent  of  the  year  189 —  was  awaited  with 
.I  considerable  interest  by  the  literary,  and  with  ab- 
sorbing interest  by  the  political,  world.  For  189 — ,  as  an 
easy  exercise  in  mental  arithmetic  assures  us,  is  divided 
from  1 86 —  by  a  space  of  exactly  five-and-twenty  years,  and 
the  year  186 —  was  the  year  of  the  death  of  the  Right  Hon. 
James  Minton  Tyler,  who  had  left  the  whole  of  his  valuable 
diaries  and  correspondence  to  his  nephew  and  literary 
executor,  Mr.  Knightley  Standish,  with  strict  testamentary 
instructions  to  withhold  them  from  publication  until  the 
lapse  of  the  period  referred  to.  Its  expiration  was  for  many 
reasons  eagerly  looked  for.  In  the  first  place,  the  deceased 
right  honourable  gentleman  (if  that  be  the  proper  order  in 
which  to  arrange  his  various  titles  to  respect)  had  throughout 
the  greater  part  of  a  long  life  enjoyed  unexampled  oppor- 
tunities of  access  to  the  arcana  of  English  politics.  With- 
out being  himself  a  great  statesman,  or  even  a  statesman  at 
all,  he  contrived  to  acquire,  and  for  many  years  to  retain,  the 
confidence  of  several  great  statesmen,  whose  claim  to  that  dis- 
tinguished title  has  been  as  unmistakably  affirmed  by  history 
as  it  was  unhesitatingly  conceded  by  their  contemporaries. 
A  long  official  career  as  a  minister  of  the  second  rank  had 
testified  to  at  least  his  administrative  capacity,  and  served  in 

166 


THE   GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  167 

some  measure  to  explain  the  respect  in  which  his  judgment 
was  evidently  held  by  so  many  more  eminent  men.  But 
the  extent  of  his  private  and  personal  influence  remained 
always  something  of  a  mystery  to  the  last.  No  one  quite 
knew  why  that  most  accomplished  of  modern  financiers, 
Sir  Simon  Sheddle,  believed  in  him  so  devoutly,  and  trusted 
him  (before  their  little  quarrel)  so  unreservedly ;  nobody 
could  quite  understand  the  bluff  Duke  of  Doncaster's  ap- 
parently sincere  regard  for  him  ;  and  certainly  no  one  ever 
quite  satisfactorily  traced  the  causes  of  the  connection 
between  him  and  that  busiest  of  political  intriguers,  Lord 
Baxtairs.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  only  fair  to  the  memory 
of  Mr.  Tyler  to  say  that  his  mysterious  friends  presented  no 
more  insoluble  a  problem  than  his  enigmatic  enemies.  If 
posterity  was  puzzled  to  know  why  he  so  powerfully  attracted 
some  people,  it  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  explain  why  he  so 
violently  repelled  others.  No  man  so  favoured  by  the 
regards  of  one  set  of  famous  contemporaries  has  ever  been 
so  heartily  detested  by  another  set ;  and  the  hatred  was  on 
the  whole  so  much  the  more  extravagant  of  the  two  senti- 
ments excited  by  him,  that  it  can  hardly  have  been  the  more 
deserved. 

But  whatever  view  might  be  taken,  whether  favourable  or 
unfavourable,  of  the  deceased  politician's  character,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  his  being  an  extremely  interesting 
figure  ;  or  that  the  famous  diaries,  when  they  saw  the  light, 
would  prove  as  interesting  as  the  diarist.  He  was  credited 
while  alive  with  knowing  all  that  there  was  to  be  known  of 
what  passed  behind  the  scenes  of  English  politics,  and  he  was 
not  credited  with  any  such  excessive  amiability  of  disposition 
as  might  induce  a  man  to  conceal  anything  that  he  knew  to 


168  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

the  discredit  of  others.  His  directing  the  postponement  of 
the  revelations  for  five-and-twenty  years  might  have  been 
supposed  indeed  by  very  innocent  persons  to  indicate  a 
tenderness  for  the  feelings  of  the  living ;  but  those  who  knew 
him  better  were  much  more  disposed  to  attribute  it  to  a  just 
appreciation  of  the  defencelessness  of  the  dead. 

"  You  wish,  uncle,"  Mr.  Standish  had  said  to  him  while 
receiving  his  last  injunctions  on  this  head,  "  to  spare  the 
susceptibilities  of  those  whom  your  disclosures  might  wound 
if  published  in  their  lifetime  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  sick  man,  with  one  of  his  queer  smiles, 
"  and  to  save  them  the  trouble  of  replying." 

Mr.  Standish  reflected  for  a  moment.  His  uncle  was 
turned  seventy,  but  two  or  three  of  the  statesmen  with 
whom  he  had  had  intimate  relations  were  a  good  many 
years  younger. 

"  Do  you  think,"  inquired  the  nephew,  "  that  you  can 
reckon  with  confidence  upon  all  your  contemporaries  having 
departed  this  life  before  the  Memoirs  appear?" 

"  If  any  of  them  survive,"  was  the  reply,  "  they  will  be 
very  old  men." 

"  And  will  feel  less  keenly  on  that  account,  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  trust  so.  They  will  at  any  rate  remember  less  accu- 
rately. Even  if  they  can  rely  upon  their  own  memory,  it 
is  enough  for  my  purpose,"  added  Mr.  Tyler,  who  was  now 
growing  visibly  weaker,  "that  it  will  be  distrusted  by  the 
public." 

A  few  hours  after  this  interview  the  worthy  old  gentleman 
passed  placidly  away.  "All  that  was  mortal  of  him,"  as 
the  phrase  is,  was  interred  with  public  honours,  but  there 
was  some  controversy  among  his  more  candid  friends  as  to 


THE   GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  169 

whether  this  description  could  be  properly  held  to  include 
his  enmities ;  for  these,  observed  one  of  the  most  candid  of 
the  friends  aforesaid,  were  not  otherwise  "  mortal "  than  in 
the  sense  of  being  deadly.  His  obsequies,  however,  were 
most  numerously  attended ;  and  many  even  of  those  political 
associates  who  were  unable  to  pay  this  mark  of  respect  to 
his  earthly  relics,  showed  the  utmost  solicitude  about  his 
literary  remains.  Mr.  Standish,  as  chief  mourner,  occupied, 
as  may  be  imagined,  a  place  of  high  importance  and  con- 
sideration. Many  were  the  anxious  inquiries  addressed  to 
him  with  regard  to  the  last  hours  and  the  last  instructions 
of  his  uncle ;  and  as  soon  as  the  decencies  of  domestic 
grief  permitted  him  to  accept  invitations,  he  found  himself 
with  as  many  dinner  engagements  at  the  houses  of  important 
political  personages  as  the  most  aspiring  of  young  men 
could  wish  for.  They  began  to  fall  off  a  little  when  it  be- 
came known  that  the  deceased  politician's  diaries  were  not 
to  see  the  light  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  but  looked  up 
again  when  people  learned — as  Mr.  Standish  took  good  care 
they  should  learn — that  his  uncle's  papers  were  not  be- 
queathed to  his  literary  executor  under  seal,  and  conse- 
quently held  no  secrets  from  him.  And  when,  a  year  or 
two  later,  he  published  his  Loose  Leaves  from  a  Minister's 
Note-Book,  with  its  piquant  allusions  to  bygone  political 
scandals,  and  its  knowing  hints  of  the  "  we  could  an  if  we 
would  "  order,  Mr.  Knightley  Standish  became  by  general 
assent  one  of  the  most  agreeable  young  men  to  be  met 
with  in  London  society.  Mr.  Standish  bore  his  honours 
discreetly  and  with  modesty.  He  was  not  so  vain,  he  used 
to  protest,  as  to  attribute  his  social  acceptance  to  the 
brilliancy  of  his  talk  or  the  fascination  of  his  manners. 


i  yo  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

Knowledge,  he  would  go  on  to  say,  had  attractions  of  its 
own ;  and  if  his  intimacy  was  sought  and  cherished  by  the 
grandees  of  politics,  it  was  merely  that  "  he  happened  to  be 
better  informed  than  most  men  of  his  years." 

But  whatever  his  claims  to  the  notice  of  these  great  men, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its  high  value  to  him.  The 
position  which  it  acquired  for  him,  while  yet  a  young  man 
of  three-and-twenty,  as  a  social  notability,  he  had,  in  spite 
of  his  modest  disclaimer,  enough  wit  and  aplomb  to  main- 
tain. His  uncle's  death  had  left  him,  as  sole  legatee,  in 
tolerably  easy  circumstances;  the  assistance  of  his  distin- 
guished patrons  enabled  him  to  obtain  a  seat  in  Parliament ; 
and  though  his  Parliamentary  career  was  but  a  brief  one,  he 
made  good  use  of  the  increased  facilities  which  it  afforded 
him  for  advancing  his  reputation  as  a  man  likely  to  be 
better  acquainted  than  another  with  the  political  secrets  of 
the  hour.  So  esteemed  and  so  employed,  Mr.  Standish 
lived  a  life  of  agreeable  excitement  and  gratified  vanity 
from  youth  to  middle  age.  Still  he  was  not  sorry  when,  a 
few  weeks  after  his  forty-seventh  birthday,  he  found  himself 
entering  upon  the  last  twelvemonth  of  the  period  for  which 
his  uncle  had  directed  his  Memoirs  to  be  withheld  from  the 
political  world.  For,  to  say  the  truth,  the  political  world 
was  beginning  to  lose  somewhat  of  its  earlier  interest  in 
Mr.  Standish.  Nearly  all  his  uncle's  contemporaries  had 
passed  away,  and  the  generation  which  succeeded  them  had 
not  the  same  good  reasons  for  thinking  him  an  agreeable 
person.  A  painful  suspicion  at  times  stole  over  him  that 
he  was  regarded,  if  not  exactly  as  a  "  fogey,"  at  least  as 
having  entered  that  middle-state  or  limbo  of  fogeyism 
proper,  the  inhabitants  of  which  are  known  by  the  official 


THE   GREAT  BAX7AIRS  SCANDAL.  171 

description  of  men  "  no  longer  young."  Add  to  this  that 
Mr.  Standish  was  not  prospering  in  money  matters.  He 
had  been  left,  as  has  been  said,  with  a  fair  income,  which, 
being  a  man  of  order  and  regularity,  he  had  never  exceeded 
by  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  or  so  per  annum. 
Now  twenty-five  years  of  punctual  adherence  to  this  practice 
not  only  reduces  a  man's  invested  capital,  which  is  perhaps 
a  minor  matter,  but  begins  to  affect  his  personal  comfort 
by  diminishing  his  income;  and  this  latter  consequence 
Mr.  Standish  could  not  tamely  submit  to.  Disgusted  at 
finding  himself  growing  poorer  as  he  grew  older,  he  endea- 
voured to  make  his  reduced  capital  go  further  by  seeking 
more  speculative  investments,  and,  as  usually  happens  in 
such  cases,  he  made  a  considerable  portion  of  it  go  so  far 
that  it  disappeared  from  his  view  for  ever.  The  upshot  of 
all  which  was  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  Mr.  Standish 
to  make  the  Tyler  Papers  a  "  big  success " ;  and  some 
twelve  months  before  the  permitted  date  of  publication  he 
set  vigorously  to  work  to  organise  victory. 

The  result  of  his  first  steps  more  than  answered  his  ex- 
pectations. The  firm  of  publishers  to  whom  in  confidence 
he  communicated  some  of  the  contents  of  his  uncle's 
Memoirs  were  greatly  impressed  with  what  they  heard.  In 
particular  they  were  much  struck  by  the  light  which  its 
disclosures  threw  upon  the  secret  history  of  the  Coalition 
of  1 8 — ,  a  subject  which  in  the  then  ill-defined  condition  of 
parties  would  be  likely  to  arrest  the  special  attention  of  the 
public.  The  private  negotiations  which  preceded  the 
Coalition  were  all  fully  unveiled  in  the  Memoirs,  and  a  very 
pretty  scandal  they  revealed — a  scandal  not  only  compro- 
mising to  some  half-dozen  deceased  politicians,  but  also, 


172  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

and  much  the  most  seriously,  damaging  to  the  functionally 
weak  but  not  hitherto  organically  affected  reputation  of  that 
still  surviving  political  veteran,  the  Earl  of  Baxtairs.  The 
publishers  foresaw  how  revelations  of  this  kind  would  make 
\h&  Memoirs  "draw";  the  book,  they  admitted,  ought  to 
be  "  the  book  of  the  season  "  ;  and  when  Mr.  Standish  had, 
by  some  half-dozen  sly  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers,  con- 
trived to  whet  public  expectation  to  the  keenest  pitch, 
Messrs.  Small,  Peaker,  and  Co.  saw  their  way,  not  indeed 
to  concluding  a  definite  agreement  at  once  for  the  copy- 
right of  the  Memoirs,  but  to  "  mentioning  "  a  sum  in  con- 
nection therewith  which  made  Mr.  Standish's  mouth  water. 

Lord  Baxtairs,  to  do  that  venerable  but  infirm  octo- 
genarian justice,  appeared  less  affected  than  any  one  else 
by  the  general  excitement  about  the  forthcoming  work. 
Not  so,  however,  his  son,  Viscount  Postern,  who  having  made 
his  peace  with  his  party — by  whom  his  father  had  ever 
since  the  Coalition  days  .been  eyed  somewhat  askance — 
was  now  looking  for  orifice.  Again  and  again  did  he  visit 
the  old  man  at  Brighton,  where  he  passed  most  of  his  time, 
in  the  hope  of  rousing  him  to  a  sense  of  the  situation, 
and  inducing  him  to  take  some  action  to  prevent  the 
threatened  disclosures. 

"  What  will  you  do,  sir,"  his  son  asked,  "  if  this  rascal 
really  has,  as  is  more  than  probable,  a  whole  budget  of 
unpleasant  secrets,  and  shoots  them  all  out  before  the 
public?" 

"Do,  my  dear  Postern,"  replied  the  aged  earl  drily — 
"  do  ?  Why,  '  live  it  down,'  to  be  sure." 

"  Live  it  down,  sir  ?     At  eighty  ! " 

"  What  ?    You  don't  give  me  nine  days  then  ?  "  was  the 


THE  GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  173 

old  peer's  chuckling  retort;  and  Lord  Postern  sighed  to 
think  how  hopelessly  the  veteran  had  failed  to  keep  abreast 
of  the  progress  of  public  virtue. 

"  If  we  only  knew  what  the  fellow's  facts  are,"  the  son 
would  say  impatiently,  "  we  should  at  least  know  what  we 
had  to  expect.  Can  you  not  recall  the  exact  circumstances, 
sir  !  " 

"  Now,  Postern,  now,  my  dear  boy,"  said  his  father  depre- 
catingly ;  "  a  job  of  nearly  fifty  years  ago  !  Now  really, 
really ! " 

Lord  Postern  sighed  again.  He  felt  the  justice  of  the 
protest,  and  that  he  might  as  well  expect  his  father  to  recall 
all  the  menus  of  his  dinners. 

"  Will  you,"  he  said,  as  a  last  resort,  "  will  you  empower 
Mr.  Dockett  to  overhaul  your  papers,  and  see  if  he  can  find 
copies  of  the  correspondence  which  passed  between  you  and 
Mr.  Tyler  at  the  time  in  question  ? '' 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sly  smile.  "  Mr.  Dockett 
is  a  model  private  secretary,  indefatigable  in  research,  and 
he  may  see  what  he  can  find." 

Further  fortified  by  express  authority  from  the  earl, 
obtained  in  answer  to  a  letter  addressed  to  him  at  Brighton 
by  the  private  secretary  himself,  Mr.  Dockett  set  to  work, 
and  spent  three  months  of  almost  incessant  labour  in  col- 
lecting, arranging,  collating,  and,  in  many  instances,  taking 
copies  of  the  documents  which  had  accumulated  in  thousands 
during  a  long  and  busy  life.  But  no  Baxtairs-Tyler  Cor- 
respondence, no  scandals,  indeed,  of  any  kind — nothing 
even  interesting.  Lord  Baxtairs  might  have  been  a  pre- 
cisian of  the  straitest  sect  of  political  Phariseeism  for  all 
that  appeared  in  his  papers. 


174  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

At  this  juncture  the  old  earl  died ;  and  the  day  after  his 
funeral  the  private  secretary  made  a  proposal  to  his  suc- 
cessor at  which  the  latter  opened  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Dockett  then  explained  himself  more  fully. 

"  But — but — "  said  the  new  Lord  Baxtairs,  "  no  publisher 
would " 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Dockett.  "  Have  I  your 
authority  to  negotiate  with  Mr.  Standish  ?  "  He  received 
it,  and  in  an  hour's  time  presented  himself  at  that  gentle- 
man's chambers  at  the  Albany. 

Mr.  Standish  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  him,  as  he 
had  with  most  private  secretaries  of  official  or  ex-official 
personages,  and  was  naturally  at  no  loss  to  guess  the  nature 
of  his  business.  As  naturally,  therefore,  he  welcomed  him 
with  an  air  of  profound,  though  polite,  surprise. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Standish,"  said  his  visitor,  who  was 
no  less  naturally  prepared  for  this  kind  of  reception,  and 
knew  the  advantage  of  going  straight  to  the  point.  "  You 
have  no  doubt  guessed  what  brings  me  here." 

Mr.  Standish  executed  a  diplomatic  bow,  which  might 
mean  anything. 

"  Lord  Baxtairs'  attention  has  been  called  to  the  news- 
paper paragraphs  respecting  the  approaching  publication  of 
your  late  uncle's  diaries,  and  has  commissioned  me  to  confer 
with  you  on  the  subject." 

Silence  still  appearing  to  Mr.  Standish  to  be  more  prudent 
tnan  speech,  he  bowed  again. 

"  I  am  going  to  talk  quite  frankly  with  you,  Mr.  Standish," 
proceeded  Mr.  Dockett — "  though  indeed,"  he  added,  "I 
can  make  no  merit  of  that  in  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
the  case<  All  the  world  knows,  of  course,  that  one  great 


THE  GREAT.    BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  17$ 

attraction — perhaps  the  great  attraction  of  the  forthcoming 
Memoirs — is  the  light  which  they  are  expected  to  throw  on 
the  secret  history  of  the  Coalition  of  18 — .  Most  people 
were  aware  that  Mr.  Tyler  had  a  considerable  share  in  the 
negotiations  which  preceded  that  extremely  unexpected 
political  combination  ;  but  what  they  are  not  aware  of,"  pro- 
ceeded Mr.  Dockett,  with  a  still  more  pronounced  assump- 
tion of  friendly  confidence,  "  is  the  part  played  in  the  affair 
by  a  member  of  the  then  Cabinet,  and  a  colleague  of  the 
Prime  Minister  whom  he  was  destined  to  supersede  as  chief 
of  the  administration  which  followed — in  a  word,  by  the  late 
Lord  Baxtairs." 

Mr.  Dockett  paused  for  a  moment,  but  Mr.  Standish  said 
nothing. 

"The  correspondence — the  very  "private  correspondence — 
which  passed  at  the  time  between  these  two  eminent  men 
is — or  so  we  have  reason  to  fear — about  to  see  the  light. 
May  I  ask  if  it  is  so?" 

He  paused  again,  and  for  so  long  this  time  that  Mr. 
Standish  was  obliged  to  answer. 

"  It  is  my  intention,"  he  said,  "  to  publish  the  letters 
exchanged  on  that  occasion  between  the  late  Lord  Baxtairs 
and  Mr.  Minton  Tyler." 

"  I  am  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  your  candour,"  said 
Mr.  Dockett,  sweetly.  "  I  need  not,  I  am  sure,  inform  any 
one  so  familiar  with  the  history  of  that  time,  that  the  publi- 
cation of  that  correspondence  is  gravely  deprecated  by  the 
present  Lord  Baxtairs.  The  position  in  which  his  father 
was  placed  during  the  crisis  in  question  was  one  of  extreme 
difficulty  ;  the  conflict  between  the  claims  of  public  duty  and 
those  of  private  friendship  was  terribly  severe.  The  former, 


176  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

we  know,  prevailed  in  the  end ;  and  history,  I  think,  has  justi- 
fied their  triumph.  But  you  can  well  understand  the  desire 
both  of  Lord  Baxtairs  and  his  successor  that  the  record  of  that 
conflict  should  be  buried  in  oblivion.  During  the  fortnight 
or  so  of  its  duration,  the  perplexed  minister  was  necessarily 
— was  inevitably — compelled  to  maintain  an  attitude  which 
would  now  be  open  to  misconstruction,  and  might,  perhaps, 
even  be  deemed — well — a — I  will  say,  inconsistent  with  due 
loyalty  to  his  colleagues.  In  a  word,  Mr.  Standish,  we  feel 
that  the  publication  of  these  letters,  which  moreover  were 
writtenunder  the  strictest  seal  of  confidence,  would  do  serious 
damage  to  the  political  reputation  of  the  late  earl,  if  not 
gravely  compromise  the  political  prospect  of  his  successor." 

"  Mr.  Dockett,"  said  his  companion  cheerfully,  "  I  should 
ill  return  the  candour  with  which  you  have  treated  me,  were 
I  to  conceal  the  fact  that  I  entirely  agree  with  you.  I  fully 
expect  that  the  publication  of  the  correspondence  will  have 
both  the  results  which  you  apprehend,  and  I  assure  you  that 
the  task  of  preparing  it  for  the  press,  with  this  conviction 
ever  present  to  my  mind,  has  been  the  most  painful  part  of 
my  responsibilities  as  an  editor." 

"I  am  anxious,  if  possible,  to  relieve  you  of  it,"  said 
Mr.  Dockett,  drily.  "  Lord  Baxtairs  has  instructed  me  to 
ask  you  whether  you  cannot  reconcile  it  with  your  editorial 
duty  to  withhold  these  letters  from  publication." 

Mr.  Standish  felt  that  it  was  time  to  throw  off  the  private 
individual  and  assume  the  public  servant. 

"  Impossible,  Mr.  Dockett,"  he  replied  firmly ;  "  I  am 
sorry  to  say  it,  but  it  is  impossible.  My  duty,  not  only  to 
my  uncle,  but,  as  I  conceive,  to  my  country,  compels  me  to 
give  these  documents  to  the  world." 


THE   GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  177 

"  Lord  Baxtairs,  Mr.  Standish,  owes  a  duty  to  his  father  ; 
and  so  far  as  the  public  are  concerned,  I  must  say  I  think 
that  their  paramount  interest  is  in  the  maintenance  of  those 
obligations  of  good  faith  and  honour,  as  between  public 
men,  which  alone  render  it  possible  for  them  to  serve  their 
country  with  advantage." 

"  I  cannot  undertake  to  discuss  that  point  with  you,"  said 
Mr.  Standish,  stiffly.  "  Every  man  has  a  right  to  his  own 
view  of  what  the  public  interest  requires ;  but  he  must 
expect  others  to  act  upon  theirs.  I  have  long  and  anxiously 
considered  the  question,  and  the  resolution  I  have  come  to 
you  must  please  consider  final." 

There  was  a  pause  ;  and  Mr.  Dockett  then,  in  a  sensibly 
colder  tone,  resumed, — 

"  I  am  sorry  the  matter  cannot  be  settled  amicably.  As 
it  is,  you  will  force  us  to  take  other  means." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !     Legal  ?  " 

"  No,  not  legal ;  though  you  are  aware,  of  course,  that 
Lord  Baxtairs  could  restrain  you  by  injunction  from  pub- 
lishing any  of  his  father's  letters.  He  was  at  first  disposed 
to  take  this  course,  but  I  dissuaded  him  from  it." 

At  this  Mr.  Standish  rose  from  his  chair,  walked  to  the 
fire,  and  turning  his  back  to  it  laughed  outright. 

"  By  Jove,  Mr.  Dockett,"  he  said,  "  you  did  me  an  ill 
turn  there." 

"  I  know  I  did,"  replied  the  other,  calmly.  "  I  don't 
know  why  you  should  think  I  want  to  do  you  a  good  one. 
I  quite  understand  that  an  injunction  was  just  the  thing 
you  wanted.  We  couldn't  prevent  your  publishing  the  facts 
without  the  letters,  and  our  suppressing  the  letters  would 
convince  everybody  that  your  account  of  the  facts  was  the 


178  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

true  one.  How,  indeed,  could  we  expect  any  contradiction 
of  ours  to  be  believed,  when  we  were  burking  the  evidence 
which,  if  our  story  were  true,  would  have  established  it  ? 
And  meanwhile  the  mere  incident  of  the  litigation  would 
have  probably  trebled  the  circulation  of  your  book." 

"You  deal  with  the  subject  like  a  master,"  said  Mr. 
Standish,  gaily ;  "  but  since  you  admit  yourselves  unable  to 
suppress  these  letters  by  any  action  of  your  own,  and  since  I 
distinctly  decline  to  oblige  you  by  suppressing  them  myself, 
will  you  kindly  inform  me  what  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Dockett,  and  there  was  such  an  unmis- 
takable twinkle  of  triumph  in  his  eye  that  Mr.  Standish 
came  back  to  the  table  and  sat  down  again.  "  I  will," 
repeated  Mr.  Dockett.  "  We  shall  immediately  publish  the 
correspondence  ourselves" 

The  announcement  was  so  wholly  unexpected  that  Mr. 
Standish  half  rose  from  his  chair  at  the  shock,  but  instantly 
recovered  and  reseated  himself.  If  the  threat  was  serious 
it  was  a  formidable  one,  for  there  were  still  nine  months  to 
elapse  before  his  own  liberty  of  publication  arose.  But  he 
had  recovered  his  outward  composure  before  he  replied, — 

"Your  threat,  my  dear  Mr.  Uockett,  would  appear  to 
argue  a  somewhat  extensive  unfamiliarity  with  what  you  are 
talking  about.  Lord  Baxtairs  cannot  be  aware  of  what  his 
father's  letters  contain." 

"  On  the  contrary,  we  are  perfectly  well  acquainted  with 
their  contents." 

"  Then  may  I  ask  with  what  object  Lord  Baxtairs  pro- 
poses to  compel  his  distinguished  father  to  write  himself 
down — well,  something  worse  than  an  ass  ?  " 

It  was  now  Mr.  Dockett's  turn  to  laugh. 


THE   GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  179 

"  You  are  much  too  shrewd,  I  take  it,  Mr.  Standish,  not 
to  perceive  that  for  yourself.  In  the  first  place,  we  shall 
have  the  advantage  of  telling  our  own  story,  editing  and 
annotating  our  own  letters  ;  and  shall  then,  of  course,  make 
out  the  best  case  we  can  for  his  late  lordship.  If  you 
dispute  the  glosses  which  we  put  on  the  letters,  we  shall 
reply  to  you ;  but  whether  you  do  or  not,  we  shall  take 
good  care  that  the  public  is  heartily  sick  of  the  whole  matter 
before  your  book  comes  out.  In  the  second,  and  as  I 
think  the  more  important  place,  by  anticipating  your  dis- 
closures we  shall  have  at  least  the  satisfaction  of  annihilating 
the  prospective  profits  of  a  gross  breach  of  confidence. 
Even  supposing  we  fail  to  whitewash  Lord  Baxtairs  success- 
fully, he  will  be  none  the  worse  off  than  if  we  had  waited 
for  you  to  blacken  him.  Nine  months  hence  his  reputation 
may  be  exactly  where  it  would  have  been,  but  what  will  have 
become  of  your  market  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  forget,  Mr.  Dockett,"  said  Standish,  "  that 
the  Baxtairs-Tyler   correspondence  will   not   be  the   only 
'  interesting  chapter  in  my  uncle's  book." 

"Nor  will  it  be  in  ours,"  retorted  Mr.  Dockett,  briskly. 
"  Lord  Baxtairs'  memoirs,  now  ready  for  the  press,  extend 
over  a  period  of  fifty  years,  during  nearly  two-thirds  of 
which  time  your  uncle  and  he  were  in  constant  intercourse 
with  the  same  public  men,  and  engaged  in  the  observation 
of  the  same  political  events.  I  imagine,"  concluded  Mr. 
Dockett,  carelessly,  "  that  the  two  books  will  cover  almost 
identical  ground." 

The  last  hint,  intended  to  stagger  Mr.  Standish,  had  the 
effect  of  reassuring  him.  He  had  never  heard  of  any  such 
memoirs,  though  as  Lord  Baxtairs,  the  last  surviving  contem- 


i8o  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

porary  of  his  uncle,  had  for  some  years  been  the  only  man 
left  alive  who  could  possibly  forestall  the  Tyler  Papers,  he 
had  naturally  made  many  inquiries  on  the  subject.  Never 
having  heard  of  any  such  memoirs,  he  was  strongly  disposed 
to  doubt  their  existence.  Doubting  it,  he  was  easily  led  to 
doubt  the  seriousness  of  Mr.  Dockett's  threat.  At  any  rate 
it  seemed  his  game  to  wait. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dockett,"  he  said,  rising  from  his  chair  and 
looking  at  the  clock,  "unless  you  have  anything  more  to 
say,  I  don't  know  why  we  should  take  up  each  other's  time 
any  longer.  Of  course  I  have  no  power  to  prevent,  nor 
even  any  right  to  object  to,  Lord  Baxtairs  taking  the  step  he 
proposes.  He  must  act  as  he  is  advised.  Good  morning." 

So  ended  the  interview ;  but  in  spite  of  Mr.  Standish's 
determination  to  defy  his  visitor's  threats,  he  was  not  quite 
comfortable  in  his  mind.  And  his  uneasiness  was  consider- 
ably deepened  by  an  announcement  which  met  his  eye  a 
morning  or  two  after,  on  opening  his  newspaper,  under  the 
advertisement-heading  of  "  Messrs.  Primmer  and  Burjoyce's 
New  Publications."  Short,  but  expressive,  it  ran  as 
follows  : — 

[Nearly  ready '.] 

Fifty  Years  of  Political  Life  :  being  a  Selection  from  the 
Journals  and  Correspondence  of  the  late  Right  Hon. 
the  Earl  of  Baxtairs,  G.C.B.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Unwilling  as  he  was  to  do  so,  Mr.  Standish  was  forced  to 
admit  that  this  looked  like  business.  A  respectable  firm  of 
publishers  would  hardly  be  likely  to  stultify  themselves  by 
advertising  as  "  nearly  ready  "  any  work  which  they  had  not 
either  actually  seen  in  manuscript,  or  of  the  existence  of  which 
they  had  not  good  reason  to  be  convinced.  Still — still — it  was 


THE   GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  181 

all  very  strange  ;  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  think  that — 
in  short,  he  was  in  that  state  of  indecision  and  perplexity 
which  renders  action  of  any  kind  impossible.  Not  long, 
however,  was  he  allowed  to  remain  in  it.  His  breakfast 
was  spoilt  for  him  a  day  or  two  after  by  a  civil  but  sternly 
business-like  letter  from  Messrs.  Small,  Peaker,  and  Co., 
pointing  out  to  him  that  the  announcement  of  Lord 
Baxtairs'  memoirs  for  almost  immediate  appearance  ma- 
terially altered  the  conditions  under  which  they  were 
negotiating  for  the  publication  of  the  Tyler  Papers,  and  that 
if,  as  was  to  be  feared,  the  revelations  of  the  more  recently 
deceased  statesman  were  found  to  anticipate  those  of  his  old 
political  associate,  Messrs.  S.  P.  and  Co.  would  necessarily 
be  compelled  to  reconsider  the  offer  which  they  had 
previously  stated  their  willingness  to  make  Mr.  Standish  for 
the  copyright  of  his  book. 

Mr.  Standish  flung  down  the  letter  on  the  breakfast-table 
with  an  ejaculation  of  extreme  disgust.  He  felt  that  his 
adversary  had,  at  any  rate,  won  the  first  game.  But  a  long 
course  of  industrious  self-seeking  had  accustomed  him  to 
subject  even  nobler  passions  than  that  of  anger  to  the 
restraints  of  material  interest. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  it,"  he  said,  after  an  hour's  steady 
reflection  on  the  situation — "  there  is  nothing  for  it  but 
compromise."  And,  sitting  down  at  his  writing-table,  he 
hastily  penned  a  note  to  Mr.  Dockett,  requesting  the  favour 
of  a  visit  from  him  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

The  private  secretary  appeared  at  the  appointed  time,  not 
indecently,  but  still  quite  perceptibly,  triumphant.  But  Mr. 
Standish's  business  instincts  were  now  supreme ;  and  if 
his  visitor  had  executed  a  war-dance  round  his  room,  and 


1 82  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

taunted  him  as  a  Red  Indian  taunts  a  captured  enemy,  he 
would  have  borne  it  with  perfect  equanimity. 

"  Mr.  Dockett,"  he  said  at  once,  "  I  feel  that  it  is  for  me 
to  make  the  first  advances  on  this  occasion.  I  will  begin, 
then,  by  admitting  that  so  far  you  have  got  the  best  of  it. 
I  didn't  believe  in  the  existence  of  your  Baxtairs'  Memoirs 
when  you  called  upon  me  last  week.  I  do  now — or,  at  any 
rate,  I  don't  think  it  safe  to  reckon  on  their  non-existence. 
They  may,  for  all  I  know,  be  '  nearly  ready '  for  publication ; 
and  if  you  were  to  publish  them  now,  I  frankly  confess  that 
it  would  knock  the  bottom  out  of  my  uncle's  book.  But 
that  brings  me  to  the  point :  and  it  can  be  very  easily  and 
shortly  stated.  We  are  both  of  us  preparing  to  publish  a 
couple  of  volumes  of  political  scandal :  I,  to  put  the  matter 
plainly,  with  a  view  to  pecuniary  profit ;  you,  to  put  it 
equally  plainly,  with  a  view  to  the  spoiling  my  market  for 
purposes  of  your  own.  It  is  clearly  essential  to  my  object 
to  be  first  in  the  field ;  while,  assuming  that  your  purposes 
can  be  otherwise  accomplished,  it  is  as  clearly  not  essential 
to  yours.  Given  a  reasonable  satisfaction  of  your  demands 
in  the  matter  of  the  Baxtairs-Tyler  correspondence,  I  pre- 
sume you  would  be  willing  to  let  my  book  appear  first. 
Now  what  would  you  consider  a  reasonable  satisfaction  of 
these  demands  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  offer  as  such  ?  " 

"  H — m  !  Well,  you  can't  expect  me  to  suppress  the 
correspondence  altogether — the  spiciest  thing  in  the  book  ! 
That  would  be  too  much." 

"  Those  are  Lord  Baxtairs'  terms,  however." 
"  Then  he  will  have  to  abate  them,"  said  Mr.  Standish, 
stoutly.     "The  letters  must  and  shall  appear." 


THE   GREAT  DAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  183 

"  They  are  Lord  Baxtairs'  terms,"  repeated  Mr.  Dockett 
with  deliberation ;  "  but  I  will — entirely  on  my  own  re- 
sponsibility, mind — I  will  make  a  proposal  which,  if  you 
accept  it,  I  pledge  myself  to  use  my  best  endeavours  to 
induce  Lord  Baxtairs  to  accept  likewise.  It  is  this  :  that 
within  a  week  from  to-day  you  submit  to  us  the  proof-sheets 
of  the  chapter  or  chapters  of  your  uncle's  Memoirs  contain- 
ing the  Baxtairs-Tyler  correspondence.  These  proof-sheets 
we  are  to  be  at  liberty  to  revise,  correct,  expurgate,  annotate, 
supplement,  and  '  edit '  generally,  in  any  way  and  to  any 
extent  we  please.  They  are  then  to  be  returned  to  you, 
and  in  the  event  of  your  accepting  our  emendations, 
elisions,  additions,  etc.,  as  they  stand,  and  pledging  your 
honour  to  us  to  publish  the  chapters  exactly  in  the  form  in 
which  we  return  them  to  you,  we  on  our  part  will  undertake 
to  delay  the  publication  of  our  memoirs  until  after  yours 
have  appeared." 

"  And  supposing  I  decline  to  accept  your  emendations ! 
What  then  ?  " 

"  What  then  ?  The  status  quo.  It  will  be  simply  a  case 
of  'as  you  were.'  We  resume  our  right  to  publish  the 
letters  in  our  own  way  at  once,  you  resume  your  right  to 
publish  them  in  your  own  way  hereafter." 

The  offer  seemed  a  fair  one ;  and,  sincere  or  not,  it 
seemed  an  offer  which  there  could  be  no  risk  in  experiment- 
ally accepting.  Above  all,  it  promised  the  invaluable  gain 
of  time.  Standish  asked  for  a  night  to  consider  it,  and 
wrote  the  next  day  to  Mr.  Dockett  accepting  it,  with,  of 
course,  full  reservation  of  the  liberty  of  action  in  case  the 
proposed  compromise  fell  through.  The  MS.  of  the  Tyler 
Papers  had  not  yet  gone,  he  said,  to  the  printers,  but  he 


1 84  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

would  request  his  publishers  to  have  the  important  chapter 
set  up,  and  the  proofs  should  be  in  Mr.  Dockett's  hands  in 
a  week. 

The  private  secretary  glanced  through  the  letter,  and 
handed  it  with  an  air  of  quiet  exultation  to  Lord  Baxtairs. 

"  We  shall  get  '  discovery  of  documents '  now,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  patron,  though  with  considerably  less 
complacency  of  manner.  "You  have  certainly  managed 
the  affair  with  remarkable  address.  The  completeness  of 
your  victory  is  undeniable.  All  I  am  in  doubt  about  is  its 
value." 

"  Information  is  always  valuable,  Lord  Baxtairs,  and  in 
this  case  it  was  indispensable.  When  we  see  the  letters  we 
shall  at  least  be  able  to  ascertain  what  prospect  there  is  of 
our  being  able  to  '  edit '  them  into  fitness  for  publication,  or 
whether  we  are  really  driven  to  the  desperate  remedy  of  an 
injunction.  I  still  hope  and  believe  that  the  former  course 
will  be  found  practicable." 

The  earl  shook  his  head  doubtfully  ;  he  imagined  that  he 
knew  his  father  better  than  Mr.  Dockett  did. 

The  week  wore  on,  but  before  the  proof-sheets  became 
due  a  discovery  took  place  which  transformed  the  whole 
situation.  Lord  Baxtairs  came  hurrying  into  Mr.  Dockett's 
room  one  morning  with  an  excited  air,  and  a  sealed  packet 
in  his  hand.  A  glance  at  it  was  enough  to  tell  the  secretary 
that  it  was  many  years  old,  and  he  was  about  to  inquire 
whether  it  was  really  what  they  were  in  search  of,  when 
Lord  Baxtairs  handed  him  a  letter  which  had  been  attached 
to  it.  This  letter,  which  was  itself  dated  some  twenty  years 
back,  was  in  the  late  earl's  handwriting,  and  addressed  to 


THE  GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  185 

his  son  and  successor.  It  was  to  inform  him  that  the  packet 
contained  documents  of  a  peculiarly  private  character,  which 
his  son,  if  indeed  he  did  not  think  fit  to  destroy  them  alto- 
gether, would  on  reading  them,  at  once,  see  the  expediency 
of  guarding  from  any  other  eyes  than  his  own. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  are  the  letters  we  want,"  said 
Lord  Baxtairs,  placing  the  packet  in  Mr.  Dockett's  hand. 

"  Do  you  intrust  me  with  these — do  you  authorise  me  to 
inspect — to  read  them  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dockett,  with  rather  a 
curious  eagerness. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  Lord  Baxtairs,  with  some 
surprise ;  "  you  have  had  the  whole  conduct  of  the  business 
hitherto,  and  you  may  as  well  see  it  out." 

Mr.  Dockett  opened  the  packet  and  glanced  rapidly  at  its 
contents,  which  exactly  answered  to  his  expectations.  It  was 
indeed  the  long-sought  Baxtairs-Tyler  correspondence. 

"  Stop,"  said  Mr.  Dockett ;  "  the  first  thing  is  *  to  declare 
off '  with  Standish.  He  has  now  nothing  to  sell  us." 

And  he  hastily  dashed  off  a  letter  to  Mr.  Standish, 
expressing  his  extreme  regret  that  Lord  Baxtairs,  after 
several  days'  consideration,  had  declined  to  ratify  the  pro- 
visional agreement  into  which  the  secretary  had  entered. 
Consequently  he  would  not  trouble  Mr.  Standish  to  forward 
the  proof-sheets,  and  both  parties  might  consider  the  matter 
as  having  reverted  to  the  status  quo. 

Mr.  Dockett  spent  the  whole  of  that  day  and  far  into  the 
night  in  reading,  arranging,  and,  for  the  purposes  of  more 
convenient  reference,  copying  the  papers  which  had  been 
placed  in  his  hands,  and  which,  in  point  of  fact,  contained, 
besides  the  Baxtairs-Tyler  correspondence,  a  whole  mass  of 
curious  and  interesting  matter,  including  the  record  of 


1 86  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

several   other  old  political  jobs  of  the  most  flagrant  and 
fragrant  description. 

The  next  day  the  secretary  submitted  to  Lord  Baxtairs 
the  letters  which  he  had  been  arranging.  His  lordship  read 
them  through  with  a  lowering  brow.  They  were  far  more 
damning  than  even  he  had  expected.  He  laid  the  last  of 
them  on  the  table  and  looked  at  Mr.  Dockett. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  for  it,"  he  said.  "  '  Editing  ' 
them  is  hopeless." 

"  Hopeless  ! "  assented  Mr.  Dockett,  emphatically.  "  You 
might  as  well  try  to  edit  Lord  Chesterfield's  letters  into  a 
religious  treatise.  There  is,  as  you  say,  only  one  thing  for  it." 

"  An  injunction  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  will  have  a  bad  effect,  of  course  ;  but  anything, 
Lord  Baxtairs — anything  would  be  better  than  allowing 
these  letters  to  be  published."  To  which  Lord  Baxtairs 
ruefully  agreed. 

Mr.  Standish,  meanwhile,  had  of  course  been  somewhat 
disconcerted  by  Mr.  Dockett's  letter,  but  he  could  do 
nothing,  and  as  days  and  weeks  passed  without  the  rival 
publication  appearing,  his  spirits  began  to  revive. 

"  If  the  fools  put  it  off  too  long,"  he  thought,  "  they  will 
improve  instead  of  injuring  my  market." 

A  quarter  of  a  year — a  half  year  slipped  away ;  it  was  now 
but  three  months  from  the  important  day,  and  the  "  book 
season "  was  about  to  begin.  Mr.  Standish's  publishers 
plucked  up  courage  and  advertised  the  Tyler  Papers. 

In  three  days  an  injunction  was  obtained  by  Lord  Bax- 
tairs to  restrain  them  from  publishing  any  letters  addressed 
by  his  father  to  the  late  Right  Hon.  James  Minton  Tyler. 

Mr.  Standish  rubbed  his  hands. 


THE   GREAT  BAXTAIRS  SCANDAL.  187 

"  The  idiots  are  playing  my  game,"  he  chuckled.  "  How- 
ever, I  may  as  well  keep  back  their  book,  too,  for  the 
present.  It  will  increase  the  public  interest  in  the  affair." 
And  he  accordingly  applied  for  and  obtained  an  injunction 
to  restrain  the  publishers  of  a  certain  book,  entitled  Fifty 
Years  of  Political  Life,  from  publishing  any  letters  addressed 
by  the  late  Right  Hon.  James  Minton  Tyler  to  the  late 
Right  Hon.  the ^  Earl  of  Baxtairs,  G.C.B. 

"  They  little  think,"  laughed  the  present  earl,  on  hearing 
of  the  proceedings,  "  that  there  is  no  such  book  in  existence." 
"  No,"  said  Mr.  Dockett  demurely,  "  they  little  think  so." 
And  the  business  being  settled,  and  he  not  being  the 
private  secretary  of  the  new  peer,  bade  Lord  Baxtairs  a 
deferential,  and  received  from  him  a  friendly,  adieu. 

Two  days  after,  Mr.  Standish  was  startled  by  a  significant 
change  in  the  publishers'  advertisement  of  Fifty  Years  of 
Political  Life.  In  place  of  the  words  "  nearly  ready,"  at  the 
head  of  the  announcement,  it  bore  the  legend  "  next  week," 
while  to  its  tail  was  appended  the  words,  "  Edited  by  Sidney 
Dockett,  M.A.,  for  ten  years  private  secretary  to  the  late 
earl."  So  they  had  got  three  months'  start  of  him.  But 
were  the  letters  really  there  ? 

They  were,  every  one  of  them  :  together  with  an  ingenious 
summary,  sailing  as  near  the  wind  of  the  second  injunction 
as  possible,  of  Mr.  Minton  Tyler's  replies.  Never  was  such  a 
scandal  unveiled ;  the  volumes  sold  like  hot  rolls. 

Upon  Lord  Baxtairs,  who  had  not  noticed  the  change  in 
the  advertisement,  the  book  fell  like  a  thunderbolt.  He 
instantly  wrote  an  indignant  letter  to  the  publishers,  and 
received  from  them  a  still  more  indignant  reply.  The 
greater  part  of  the  MS.  had,  they  said,  been  placed  in  their 


1 88  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

hands  fully  six  months  before  by  Mr.  Dockett,  who  had  at 
the  same  time  amply  satisfied  them  of  his  editorial  authority. 

Lord  Baxtairs  then  wrote  a  furious  letter  to  Mr.  Dockett, 
and  received  from  him  a  Christian  reply.  He  had  acted, 
he  said,  as  far  as  his  imperfect  lights  directed  him,  "  for  the 
best " ;  and  as  for  his  lordship's  threats  of  proceedings — 
civil  and  criminal — the  enclosed  letter  (copy  of  an  original 
which  Lord  Baxtairs  might  see  if  he  wished,)  was  a  sufficient 
reply  to  them. 

The  letter  ran  as  follows  : — 


BRIGHTON,  Jan.  189 — • 
"  DEAR  MR.  DOCKETT, — 

"  You  have  my  full  permission  to  prepare  a  memoir  of  my 
political  career,  and  to  use  for  that  purpose  whatever  documents  my 
son  and  successor  allows  you  to  inspect. 

"  Faithfully  yours, 

"  BAXTAIRS. 

"  P.S. — Do  not  mention  this  to  Lord  Postern.     I  prefer  to  tell  him 
myself." 


The  letter  fell  from  its  reader's  hands.  He  could  almost 
hear  the  old  man's  chuckle  at  the  double  mystification,  of 
appointing  a  biographer  without  the  knowledge  of  his  son, 
and,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  biographer,  authorising 
the  son  to  withhold  from  him  all  really  valuable  material. 
The  venerable  jester  had,  however,  overreached  himself  here, 
and  the  son  felt  that  he  was  powerless  in  the  matter. 

And  so  the  lawyers,  whom  he  consulted,  told  him. 

Mr.  Standish's  agreement  with  his  publishers  fell 
through. 

Mr.  Dockett's  book  was  the  "  book  of  the  season.' 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  AGED  PSYCHOPATH. 

In  Russia,  where  obscure  and  imaginary  mental  ailments  are,  for  all 
legal  and  most  practical  purposes,  confounded  with  insanity  of 
behaviour,  the  word  psychopath,  —  meaning  a  person  who  enjoys  all 
the  rights  of  a  sane  man,  and  many  of  the  privileges  of  a  lunatic,  — 
though  coined  but  a  few  years  ago,  is  most  extensively  used  by  all 
classes  of  society.  So  many  persons  now  describe  themselves  as 
psychopaths  that  it  no  longer  confers  upon  them  the  least  dis- 
tinction.— LANIN. 


hither,  little  Vladimir, 
And  listen  and  take  heed  ; 
I've  sent  for  you  that  you  may  hear 
Your  grandsire's  dying  rede. 

I  ever  sought  distinction's  niche 
Throughout  my  life,  and  you, 

My  Vladimir  Ivanovitch, 
Must  be  distinguished  too. 

Then  take  not  up,  O  grandson  mine, 
Or  dread  my  ghostly  wrath,  — 

So  common  and  so  cheap  a  line 
As  that  of  psychopath. 

For  you  must  shun  the  vulgar  herd  ; 
And  nowadays,  my  lad, 


190  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

To  name  yourself  by  such  a  word 
Would  stamp  you  as  a  cad. 

Far  otherwise  it  was  with  me, 

Thank  Heaven  !  when  I  was  young, 

And  my  well-marked  psychopathy 
Employed  the  public  tongue. 

When,  as  a  child,  in  childish  play 
I  chanced  to  break  a  limb, 

And  got  my  tutor  sent  away 
By  charging  it  on  him  ; 

All  deemed  my  case  with  interest  fraught, 
Whom  thus,  ere  yet  a  youth, 

A  nervous  system  highly-wrought 
Forbade  to  speak  the  truth. 

In  like  emotion,  too,  they  joined 
When,  in  my  boyhood's  spring, 

I  irresponsibly  purloined 
My  father's  diamond  ring. 

Then  as  my  morbid  instincts  throve, 

And  paralysed  my  will, 
Men's  curiosity  inwove 

A  stronger  feeling  still. 

And  awe  and  wonder  were  complete 
When,  with  no  purposed  aim, 

I  was  impelled  to  counterfeit 
My  uncle's  honoured  name. 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  AGED  PSYCHOPATH.  191 

Why  dwell  upon  the  homicides 

And  criminal  assaults 
For  which  psychopathy  provides 

Excuse  as  venial  faults  ? 

Suffice  it  that  a  case  so  rare 

Through  mouths  of  mortals  ran, 

Till  I  was  reckoned  everywhere 
A  most  distinguished  man. 

But  now,  alas  !  the  psychopath 

Is  everywhere  on  view — 
Ah,  boy,  avert  my  ghostly  wrath, 

And  shun  the  common  crew  ! 

Ascribe  your  thefts  to  simple  greed, 

Plead  hatred  when  you  slay, 
Account  for  every  wicked  deed 

In  the  old-fashioned  way. 

To  shame  these  imitative  times 

The  novel  sight  present 
Of  one  who  perpetrates  his  crimes 

With  criminal  intent. 

And  ever  this  distinction  proud 

To  psychopaths  oppose, 
That  you,  unlike  that  vulgar  crowd, 

Could  help  it  if  you  chose. 


THE   ARMOURER   OF  THE   TWENTIETH 
LEGION. 

r  I  "HE  armourer  of  the  Twentieth  Legion  lay  dying  at 
-I  Aquas  Sulis,  of  gout  in  the  stomach.  At  his  bedside, 
stylus  and  tablets  in  hand,  sat  the  eminent  local  physician 
Haustus  Blupilius  Niger,  whom  the  solicitude  of  the  sick 
man's  comrades  had  substituted  for  the  regimental  surgeon. 

Julius  Vitalis  unclosed  his  glazing  eye,  and  cast  a  feebly 
wistful  look  at  his  companion. 

"Are  you  writing  another  prescription?"  he  asked,  in  a 
faint  whisper. 

"  No,  my  friend,"  replied  Niger,  quietly.  "  I  am  writing 
an  account  of  the  case  for  a  medical  colleague  of  mine  in 
Rome,  who  is  interested  in  the  prosperity  of  this  place. 
Aquae  Sulis  is  falling  off  in  popularity  as  a  health  resort,  and 
that,  considering  the  large  and  recent  outlay  upon  the  new 
baths,  is  a  serious  matter." 

"  You  think  there  is  hope,  then  ?  "  inquired  Vitalis,  with  a 
momentary  gleam  of  light  under  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

"  For  Aquae  Sulis  ?   Certainly.     Its  decline  has  but  just 

commenced,  and  can  easily  be " 

"  No,  no  !  for  me  !  for  me  ! "  said  Vitalis,  impatiently. 

"  I  thought  I  had  explained  to  you,"  said  the  doctor,  with 
a  touch  of  irritation,  "that  your  case  is  hopeless,  quite 
hopeless." 

"  And  yet  you  think  it  will  revive  public  faith  in  the  cura- 
192 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.     193 

tive  properties  of  the  waters,"  said  the  armourer,  sinking  back 
on  his  grabatus. 

"  In  the  way  I  am  stating  it,"  replied  Niger,  with  a  smile, 
"  I  believe  it  will.  I  never  saw  any  podagric  attack  show 
such  signs  of  yielding  to  the  douche ;  but,  of  course,  if  you 
will  drink  that  detestable  British  mead  instead  of  the  sound 
Falernian  I  ordered  you,  and  which  you  might  have  got 
regularly  and  most  reasonably,  as  I  told  you,  from  my  friend 
Nobilius  Pauper,  of  101,  Suburra,  why,  you  must  take  the 
consequences." 

Vitalis  closed  his  eyes  with  a  sigh,  and  remained  silent 
for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  should  have  liked,"  he  then  said,  gruffly,  "  to  end  my 
days  in  Rome.  It  is  hard,  after  twenty  years  in  the  service, 
to  leave  my  ashes  in  this  accursed  isle." 

"  Armourer,"  said  the  physician,  rising  to  his  feet  with  a 
deeply  offended  air,  "you  forget  that  you  are  addressing 
a  Roman  citizen,  whose  family  have  been  settled  in  this 
accursed  isle,  and  even  in  this  God-forsaken  town,"  he  added 
with  still  more  elaborate  irony,  "for  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years.  I  have  every  intention  of  leaving  my  own  ashes  here, 
if  indeed  they  may  be  thought  worthy  to  repose  beside  those 
of  your  honour's  worship." 

"  I  would  rather  lay  mine  by  my  mother's,  in  the  Appian 
Way,"  said  Julius,  doggedly,  "  at  least  if  I  am  to  die  in  this 
fashion,  like  a  stricken  crone,  rather  than  a  soldier,"  and  as 
the  thought  surged  up  in  his  mind  he  struck  the  frame  of 
his  pallet  fiercely  with  his  clenched  hand. 

"  Have  you  any  messages  for  friends  in  Rome  ?  "  inquired 
the  matter-of-fact  physician,  as  he  put  away  his  tablets  and 
rose  to  depart. 

W.  L.-XV. 


194  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

The  dying  man  feebly  shook  his  head.  "Any  message 
that  I  have,"  he  muttered,  "  they  must  come  here  to  read. 
I  have  given  you  the  inscription  for  my  cippus  already.  You 
will  see,  will  you  not,  that  it  is  cut  by  a  decent  lapidary  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  provided  for  that,"  said  Niger  kindly ; 
and  then,  as  though  to  escape  his  friend's  thanks  for  his 
affectionate  promptitude,  moved  quickly  towards  the  door. 
"  I  sup  with  Pulcherius,"  he  said,  as  he  paused  a  moment  at 
the  door,  "  but  I  will  look  in  again  before  midnight  to  see 
how  it  fares  with  you." 

II. 

The  villa  of  the  wealthy  and  elegant  Pulcherius  Paullus 
stood  on  the  gentle  eminence  which  we  now  know  as  Bath- 
wick  Hill,  a  spot  which  commands  a  striking  view  of  the 
Queen  of  the  West,  and  which  even  in  the  fourth  century 
A.D.  looked  down  upon  a  flourishing  Roman  settlement  and 
important  military  station. 

Pulcherius  was  a  learned  antiquarian  and  munificent 
patron  of  the  arts,  who  delighted  in  gathering  round  him 
whatever  notabilities,  scientific,  artistic,  or  literary,  were  to 
be  found,  from  time  to  time,  either  among  the  Roman 
residents  in  Britain  or  the  casual  visitors  to  the  island. 

In  his  spacious  supper-chamber  there  were  this  evening 
assembled  a  small  but  distinguished  party,  consisting  of  a 
highly  fashionable  young  poet  of  a  refined  and  melancholy 
aspect,  Nimnimius  Heliotropus  by  name ;  another  bard  of 
a  more  fiery  and  Tyrtaean  order  in  the  person  of  Jingonius 
Minax ;  the  well-known  numismatist  and  accomplished 
decipherer  of  inscriptions,  Aridulus  Pulvis  ;  a  gentleman 
interested  in  an  important  staple  of  Romano-British  com- 
merce, who  had  made  the  patronymic  of  Edulius  Molluscus 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.     195 

a  name  to  conjure  with  on  the  Kentish  coast ;  and  last,  but 
not  least,  the  caustic  Aduncus  Naso,  the  cynical  tenor  of 
whose  philosophic  works  had  rendered  him  an  object  less 
of  admiration  than  of  somewhat  irritated  curiosity  among 
his  fellow-residents  in  Britain. 

As  Niger  entered  the  supper-chamber  and  exchanged 
greetings  with  his  host,  he  caught  the  name  of  the  patient 
whose  bedside  he  had  just  left. 

"  He  is  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Molluscus,  "  one  of  the  old 
breed  of  soldiers,  who  have  done  so  much  to  carry  the 
Roman  eagles,  and — ahem  ! — extend  the  civilising  agencies 
of  Roman  trade,  to  so  many  distant  regions  of  the  world. 
It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  Fate  should  have  forbidden  the 
gallant  old  warrior  to  lay  his  ashes  in  the  mother  city  he  has 
served  so  long  and  well." 

"  You  are  right,  indeed,"  said  their  host,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Minax,  let  us  listen  to  your  stirring  lines  again.  Our 
friend  the  physician  would  doubtless  like  to  hear  them." 

In  the  earlier  and  simpler  ages  of  the  Christian  era,  a 
poet  required  less  pressing  than  is  necessary  in  these  days 
to  induce  him  to  recite  his  own  compositions.  Minax 
cleared  his  melodious  throat,  and  with  a  side  glance  at 
Heliotropus,  who  appeared  wrapt  in  contemplation,  he  thus 
began : — 

"  Nay,  lay  them  by  me,  —spear  and  sword, 

True-tried  on  many  a  stricken  field. 

Bethink  you  that  the  arms  I  wield 

Owned  me  their  smith  before  their  lord  ? 

"  My  keen  craft  whetted  them  for  strife, 
To  reap  the  foe  like  ripened  corn  ; 
Of  my  own  life  and  strength  was  born  „ 

The  strength  of  steel  that  hedged  my  life 


196  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  Forge  blazed  and  hammer  swung,  to  store 

The  fury  and  the  force  that  broke 
•  Forthright  and  downward  in  that  stroke 
My  failing  arm  shall  strike  no  more. 

"  Is  this  soft  city  of  the  West, 
This  lazar-house  among  the  hills, 
This  couch  of  weakling  aches  and  ills, 

Fit  for  a  legionary's  rest  ? 

"  No  !   if  this  land  must  build  my  pile, 

If  the  Dark  God  denies  me  Rome, 

And  calls  me  to  my  shadowy  home 
Here,  on  this  far  barbarian  isle, 

"  Why  came  not,  on  some  battle-day, 

Such  summons  as  the  soldier  hears, 

Joyous,  amid  the  shock  of  spears, 
The  clash  and  clamour  of  the  fray  ? 

"My  sire,  with  many  a  comrade  brave, 

Fell,  fighting  amid  Dacian  snows ; 

The  cohorts  of  camp-follower  crows 
Served  them  for  mourners, — and  for  graves. 

"And  better  had  such  death  been  mine 
There,  on  the  rugged  Northern  plain, 
Where  the  wild  tribesmen  storm  in  vain 

The  rampart  of  the  Roman  line  ! 

"  Ay  !  better  dead  and  derelict, 

And  food  for  wolves  on  Hadrian's  Mound. 
Leg-locked,  breast-grappling,  arm-enwound, 

In  death-grip  with  the  naked  Pict." 

These  stanzas  of  Minax  were  warmly  applauded,  a 
circumstance  which  (for  it  was  only  the  fourth  century  A.D.) 
appeared  to  give  Heliotropus  some  uneasiness.  For  a  while 
he  seemed  anxious  to  lead  the  conversation  into  a  particular 
channel,  towards  which  the  other  guests,  or  at  any  rate 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.     197 

Minax,  showed  a  certain  unwillingness  to  follow  it.  They 
apparently  preferred  to  let  Aridulus  Pulvis  fix  the  subject  of 
chat,  and  discussed  coins  with  animation  for  some  consider- 
able time. 

Pulvis  produced  what  he  declared  to  be  an  ancient 
British  coin  of  Cunobelinus,  not  represented  in  Pulcherius's 
collection,  who  (as  was  too  common  in  those  early  times) 
expressed  polite  doubt  of  its  authenticity.  Aduncus  Naso 
sided  with  Pulcherius,  and  remarked  upon  the  extreme 
uncertainty  attaching  to  the  genuineness  of  most  coins  of 
over  two  hundred  years  old.  Their  own  money  of  to-day — 
ay,  and  their  own  monuments,  too — would  in  a  few  centuries 
gather  as  much  doubt  around  them  as  attached,  he  added, 
suddenly  extinguishing  the  smile  on  Pulcherius's  face,  "  to 
nearly  the  whole  of  our  amiable  host's  collection."  When 
the  time  came  for  the  evacuation  of  Britain 

But  he  was  here  interrupted  by  a  general  outcry.  In  the 
name  of  civilisation,  commerce,  and  his  investments, 
Molluscus  protested  against  the  ill-omened  words.  Pul- 
cherius glanced  around  him  at  his  art-treasures,  and  smiled 
at  the  monstrosity  of  the  notion  that  a  Society  so  distinguished 
for  refinement  should  pass  away  and  leave  no  trace  behind 
it.  The  arch  geologist,  who  intended  to  bequeath  his  British 
treasures  to  a  Roman  museum,  was  less  concerned  with  the 
possibility  of  the  loss  of  the  island  than  with  the  date  of 
the  event.  Minax  was  too  shocked  to  speak,  and  from  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  was  already  meditating  a 
poem,  in  the  fire  of  whose  patriotic  indignation  the  recreant 
Naso  should  be  withered  up.  Here,  however,  Nimnimius 
had  the  advantage  of  his  fellow-bard.  He  had  his  poem 
ready,  pat  to  the  very  subject, — to  which,  indeed,  he  had 


198  NUMBER  TWENTY. 

been  trying  to  bring  round  the  conversation, — and  he  seized 
his  opportunity  at  once. 

"  Naso  is  right,"  he  exclaimed,  at  the  first  momentary 
lull  of  tongues.  "  We  are  bound  to  look  forward  to  the  con- 
tingency to  which  he  refers.  Speaking  for  myself,  I  would 
say  that  we  ought  even  to  wish  for  its  speedy  arrival.  And 
in  this  connection  I  will,  with  your  permission,  recite  a 
short  poem  which  I  have  composed  on  the  point." 

The  company  was  too  taken  aback  to  protest  at  once, 
and  Heliotropus  was  too  experienced  a  reciter  to  give 
them  time  to  think.  He  whipped  out  his  MS.  and  at  once 
began — 

"  Mother  of  nations,  who  hast  borne  on  high, 
Age  after  age,  in  thy  untiring  hand, 

The  tameless  eagles  of  the  might  of  Rome, 
The  bounden  fasces  of  her  wise  command, 

To  climes  beneath  the  Orient's  glowing  dome 

And  Britain's  misty  sky, 
The  hour  has  come  to  grant  thy  subject  globe 

The  liberation  of  its  lord's  retreat, 

And  once  more  gather  round  thy  pausing  feet 
The  far-thrown  skirts  of  thy  Imperial  robe. 

"  The  world  is  ripe  for  freedom  ;  manumit  : 
The  world  is  young,  and  thou  hast  waxen  old  ; 

The  orb  of  empire  trembles  in  thy  grasp ; 
Thy  song  is  sung ;  thy  mighty  tale  is  told  ; 

The  book  is  filled  for  Fate  to  close  and  clasp, 

And  fix  her  seal  on  it. 
Accomplished  is  the  work  Jove's  counsel  willed; 

That  destiny  the  Sibyl  saw  and  sang 

To  old  /Eneas,  long  ere  Victory  sprang 
Armed  from  the  brain  of  Caesar,  is  fulfilled. 

"  For  never  have  the  immortal  gods  ordained 
Perpetual  rule  by  their  august  decree 
To  any  state  by  hands  of  mortal  reared, 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.     199 

And  let  it  be  enough,  O  Rome,  for  thee, 

That  not  unloved  by  some,  by  none  unfeared, 
Thou  hast  subdued  and  reigned. 

Stand  now  apart,  self-gathered,  and  rejoice 

In  those  strong  children  who  from  East  to  West 
Have  sucked  the  milk  of  wisdom  from  thy  breast, 

And  learnt  the  speech  of  nations  from  thy  voice." 

Heliotropus'  little  poem  was  received  in  a  chilly  silence, 
which  Pulcherius  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Your  lines,  my  dear  young  friend,"  he  said,  with  a  touch 
of  paternal  satire,  "  would  have  as  much  sense  as  elegance, 
were  it  not  for  two  assumptions  which  constitute,  so  far  as 
I  can  see,  though  I  am  no  poet,  the  whole  point  and  pith  of 
them." 

"  And  which  are  ?  "  inquired  Nimnimius,  with  the  tolerant 
smile  of  cultured  youth  at  the  prejudices  of  Philistine  middle 
age. 

"  And  which  are,"  continued  Pulcherius,  "  first,  that  Rome 
has  entered  on  the  period  of  her  decadence ;  and  secondly, 
that  her  subject  provinces  are  anywhere  capable  of  main- 
taining an  independent  existence  after  the  withdrawal  of 
her  supporting  hand.  As  to  the  former  assumption,  it  is 
refuted  by  evidences  of  every  kind.  We  have  the  best 
reason,  I  thank  the  gods,  for  believing  that  the  Empire  is 
stronger  than  it  ever  was,  and  that  when  the  barbarians  on 
our  frontier  have  received  a  few  more  lessons,  we  shall  have 
no  further  trouble  with  them.  As  to  our  outlying  posses- 
sions, I  will  be  content  to  take  the  case  of  the  province  in 
which  we  live,  and  to  ask  you,  as  a  reasonable  man,  what 
possible  future  Britain  would  have  to  look  forward  to  if  the 
Roman  eagles  and  the  Roman  fasces,  of  which  you  have  sung 
so  prettily,  were  to  be  withdrawn." 


200  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

A  murmur  of  approval  followed  this  posing  question,  and 
grew  louder  when  it  was  observed  that  Heliotropus  was 
rummaging  among  his  papers  in  apparent  search  of  a  poetic 
reply  to  it. 

Naso,  after  that  incomprehensible  manner  of  his,  was 
loudest  in  his  expressions  of  assent. 

"  You  are  undoubtedly  right,  Pulcherius,"  said  he ;  "  there 
is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  Roman  Empire  is  im- 
mortal. Otherwise,  what  would  become  of  the  trade  in 
oysters." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Edulius,  eagerly,  though  with  a  glance 
not  unmingled  with  suspicion  at  Naso. 

"  Art  and  science  would  perish  in  this  country,"  observed 
Aridulus,  "  without  hope  of  revival." 

"  The  very  remark  I  was  about  to  make !  "  added 
Naso. 

"  In  short,"  continued  Pulcherius,  "  every  step  which  has 
been  made  by  civilisation  since  the  day  when  Julius  came 
pearl-hunting  to  the  coast  of " 

"  Pardon  me,"  exclaimed  Pulvis  ;  "  for  'pearl'  read  'tin.' 
That  any  intelligent  man  should  believe  that  idle  story  of 
Suetonius  about " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Pulcherius,  testily,  for  this  was  a  point  on 
which  he  was  particularly  touchy.  "  I  thought  I  had  con- 
vinced you  that  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  a  pearl-fishery 
on  this  coast  was  held  by  our  ancestors  from  the  earliest 
times." 

"  Praised  be  the  gods  !  "  murmured  Naso,  to  himself ; 
"  ancient  faith  has  not  yet  taken  flight  from  the  earth.  I 
have  lived  to  hear  one  archagologist  declare  his  belief  that 
he  has  convinced  another." 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.    201 

Molluscus,  who  had  been  growing  very  uneasy  during  this 
controversy,  now  craved  leave  to  speak. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  that  Pulcherius  is  not  far  wrong  in 
his  account  of  the  invasion  of  Britain.  But  if  you  want  to 
hear  the  exact  truth  of  the  matter,  listen." 

And  before  his  audience  could  turn  the  conversation  in 
self-defence,  he  had  plunged,  in  a  rough,  sonorous  voice, 
into  the  recital  of  the  following  lines  : — 

"  Weary,  war-worn,  wrapt  in  deepest  study, 
Doubting  Cxsar  sits  with  visage  stern  ; 
Eyes  that  peer  across  the  wine-cup  ruddy, 
Out  upon  the  sea  no  light  discern ; 
Britain,  through  her  mists 
Beckoning,  he  resists  ; 
Rome  and  Rome's  contentions  cry,  "  Return." 

"  Idle  lounged  the  legionary  ;  idle 

Rode  the  galley  at  the  harbour  gate, 
Fretting  in  fair  winds  its  hawser-bridle, 
Straining  for  the  spring  across  the  strait, 
While  its  master  sat, 
Now  this  way,  now  that, 
Swift  his  mind  dividing  in  debate. 

' '  While  he  sat  and  sipped  the  ruby  fluid, 

Brought  a  slave  a  bark-strip  smooth  and  thin, 
Bearing  legend,  '  Dandorix  the  Druid 
Audience  seeks  most  earnestly  to  win.' 
Caesar  at  the  '  card  ' 
Gazed  a  moment,  hard, 
Then  gave  order,  '  Show  the  stranger  in.' 

' '  Entered  then  a  priest  of  reverend  presence, 

Carrying  a  small,  mysterious  keg, 
Made  before  the  conqueror  proud  obeisance, 
Bowing  head,  but  bending  not  the  leg, 
Even  as  who  should  say, 
'  Though  I  sue  to-day, 
Vet  command  I  oftener  than  I  beg.' 


202  NUMBER   TWENTY. 

"  '  Ask  me  not,'  began  this  aged  person, 

'  Why  my  offerings,  my  advice  I  bring. 
'Tis  enough  that  I  have  laid  my  curse  on 
That  detested  country  whence  I  spring, 
And  to  see  it  thrust 
Prostrate  in  the  dust 
Would  delight  me  more  than  anything. 

"  '  Wherefore,  then,  delay  thy  swoop  on  Britain, 

Eagle  of  the  nations  ?    Nay,  but  haste, 
Treasures  undiscovered  and  unwritten 
On  its  seaboard  run  to  sinful  waste; 
Treasures  fitly  stored 
For  the  Olympian  board, 
Victor  of  the  World,  behold  and  taste.' 

"  Saying  this,  from  forth  his  little  barrel 

Drew  he  slowly  something,  and  unfurled 
From  within  a  fold  of  his  apparel 

What  appeared  a  knife  ;  which,  deftly  twirled, 
Opened  it  straightway, 
And  the  Wonder  lay 
Plump,  before  the  Victor  of  the  World. 

"  Caius  Julius  put  away  the  '  native,' 

Leaving  nothing  but  its  fringing  beard, 
And  the  while  its  succulence  afflative 

Through  his  inmost  being  breathed,  insphered, 
Britain  o'er  the  sea 
Lured  resistlessly ; 

Rome  and  Roman  rivals  disappeared. 
. 

"  Kindled  in  his  eye  the  gleams  that  presage 

Fullest  light  of  a  resolve  new-born  ; 
Quick  he  gave  his  orderly  the  message, 
On  a  leaflet  from  his  tablets  torn: 
'.Troops  embark  to-day  ; 
Galleys  under  way 
Punctually  at  six  to-morrow  morn.'  " 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.    203 

"Permit  me,"  said  Naso,  before  the  company  had  had 
time  to  applaud  the  verses  of  Molluscus,  "  permit  me  to 
read  to  you  the  sequel  of  our  friend's  legend — you  remember 
you  were  obliging  enough  to  read  it  to  me  the  other  day, 
Molluscus — before  you  indulge  too  freely  the  pleasing 
reflections  it  is  calculated  to  excite.  You  were  aware,  I 
dare  say,  that  Csesar  treated  Dandorix  with  gross  ingratitude. 
But  perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  the  Druid  revenged 
himself  with  the  terrible  malediction  recorded  in  the  poem 
I  am  about  to  recite : — 

"  When  the  British  priest,  who  oped 

To  his  country's  foes  the  gate 
Found  his  name  was  not,  as  hoped, 
Placed  upon  the  Syndicate, 

"  Furious  at  the  unworthy  hoax, 

Stormed  the  Druid,  hoary  chief, 
With  the  wrath  that  often  chokes 
Men  whose  plans  have  come  to  grief. 

"  '  Conqueror,  if  the  aged  eyes 

You  with  dust  contrived  to  fill, 
Failed  your  treachery  to  surprise, 
They  can  read  the  future  still. 

"  '  Rome  shall  scuttle — write  that  word 

In  the  gore  that  she  has  spilt — 
Scuttle,  hopeless  and  abhorred, 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

"  '  Rome,  who  for  the  smallest  gain 
Blood  in  torrents  coldly  sheds, 
Shall  retire  with  ended  reign, 
Leaving  us  our  oyster-beds. 


204  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

" '  Then  the  trade  of  which  your  mind 

Studies  now  to  sow  the  seeds, 
Shall  in  future  be  confined 
Solely  to  our  local  needs. 

" '  Prices  Caesar  never  knew 

His  descendants  shall  dismay  ; 
None  shall  wax  the  whole  world  through 
So  prohibitive  as  they. 

1 ' '  Other  oysters  shall  arise, 

Rivals  weak  of  British  fame, 
Flavour  giving  place  to  size, 
Magnitude  their  only  claim. 

"'  Vainly  shall  your  starveling  coasts 

Strive  our  product  to  excel 
With  a  puny  thing  that  boasts 
Merely  elegance  of  shell. 

" '  Till  at  last  you  hear,  unnerved, 

Fate  pronounce  her  sentence  due: 
Natives  are  for  us  reserved  ; 

Wretched  Lucrines  wait  for  you." 

Gloom  settled  on  the  faces  of  those  present,  with  the 
exception  of  Molluscus,  as  Naso  concluded  his  recital. 
Prices  had,  in  fact,  already  risen,  and  they  felt  in  their 
hearts  that  the  sombre  prophecy  of  this  betrayed  Druid  was 
but  too  probably  assured  of  fulfilment. 

"  You  will  not  forget  the  four  dozen  I  am  to  send  by  you 
to  Varro,"  said  Pulcherius  to  Niger,  after  a  pause.  "  You 
start  for  Rome  next  week,  do  you  not?  My  slave  has 
written  the  address,  I  believe.  I  gave  him  the  order  to 
do  so  at  the  time  when  I  commanded  him  to  carve  the 
inscription  for  Vitalis's  memorial-stone.  The  fellow  is  an 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.    205 

expert  lapidary,  and  will  have  done  it  neatly.  There  it  is, 
by  the  way,  wrapped  in  matting.  Let  Syrus  carry  it  after 
you  to  the  poor  fellow's  quarters ;  "  for  the  stars  showed  the 
approach  of  midnight,  and  Niger  was  rising  to  go.  "  It  will 
be  a  melancholy  satisfaction  to  him,  no  doubt,  to  see  that 
the  thing  has  been  properly  done." 

III. 

Niger  found  the  armourer  at  the  point  of  death.  He 
bent  over  him  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Vitalis,"  he  said,  "  I  have  brought  your  tombstone.  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  see  it  before  your  death.  Slave, 
display  it." 

Syrus  stripped  off  the  matting  and  held  up  the  slab.  The 
armourer  gazed  for  a  moment  on  it  with  a  fast-glazing  eye, 
smiled  faintly,  pressed  feebly  the  physician's  hand,  and  sank 
back  dead. 

Niger  looked  at  the  tombstone,  then  at  the  slave,  then 
at  the  stone  again,  and  then,  despite  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion,  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

The  inscription  was  in  the  words  and  figures  following : — 

DISCEDENTIS  •  MANIBVS 

HAVST    •    BLVPIL    •    NIGR    • 
HIC    •    CADVS    •    XLVIII    •    OSTR    •    NATIV    • 

LVCI    •    jEMIL    •    VAR    • 
TRADENDVS       •       CREDITVR    • 

"  Why,  you  misbegotten  progeny  of  a  mule,"  exclaimed 
Niger,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak  for  laughing,  "this  was 


206  NUMBER    TWENTY. 

• 

the  address  your  master  gave  you,  not  the  mortuary  in- 
scription. You  have  carved  an  epitaph  for  a  barrel  of 
oysters ! " 

IV. 

"  Useless  ? "  said  Naso,  after  the  merriment  created  by 
Niger's  recital  of  this  incident  had  subsided.  "  Not  at  all. 
Make  me  a  present  of  the  slab,  Pulcherius,  and  lend  me  a 
chisel,  and  I'll  undertake  to  make  the  thing  useful  to  future 
generations,  at  any  rate." 

The  tool  was  brought  to  Naso,  and,  after  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  industrious  hacking  at  judiciously  selected  portions 
of  the  inscription,  it  assumed  this  form  : — 

DIS  MANIBVS 

HAVST     •     BLVPIL     •     NIGR 

HIC    XLVIII    NATI 

LVCI    •    ^EMIL    •    VARR   • 
ENDV    •    IT    • 

"  Now,"  said  Naso  to  Syrus,  "take  it  away,  boy,  and  bury 
it  about  a  couple  of  feet  underground  in  your  master's 
garden." 

***** 

\Extractfrom  the  Journal  of  the  Archceological  Society  >  189 — .] 
At  the  meeting  of  the  Society  on  Friday  last  a  most 
interesting  paper  was  read  by  Professor  Giglampz,  on  a 
Roman  tablet  recently  discovered  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  inscription  was  somewhat  extensively  defaced,  but 
the  learning  and  ingenuity  of  the  Professor  have  at  last 
triumphed  over  the  difficulties  of  his  task,  and  there  can 


ARMOURER  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  LEGION.     207 


now  be  little  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  who  examines 
the  inscription  as  conjecturally  restored  that  it  is  the  epitaph 
of  one  Haustus  Blupilius  Niger,  who  came  by  his  death  at 
Bath  at  the  age  of  48,  and  to  whom  this  memorial  was 
placed  by  his  friend  or  kinsman  Lucius  ^Emilius  Varro. 


DIS  MANIBVS 

HAVST[I]  •  BLVPIL[II]  •  NIGR[I] 

me  •  [SEPVLTI  (?)]  •  XLVIII  •  [ANNOS]  •  NATI  (?) 

LVCl[vs]       •       ^EMILl[vs]       •       VARR[o] 

[PON]ENDV[M]  •  [CVRAVJIT 


FINIS. 


UNDER    THE  vK^^P^S*  H.M. 

PATRONAGE    OF       gg^jj£??Z^        THE     QUEEN, 

H.R.H.    THE    PRINCESS    OF    WALES, 

H.R.H.     PRINCESS     MARY   ADELAIDE,    DUCHESS    OF    TECK,    ETC.,    ETC. 
THE 

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STANDARD    (Leader). 

"'The  Victoria  Library'  begins  with  'The  Gentlewoman  in  Society,'  by 
Lady  Greville.  It  is  an  attractive  subject.  '  Society  '  is  very  much  in  evidence 
just  now.  Lady  Greville  tells  us  all  about  it.  The  picture  she  draws  is  not 
at  all  a  pretty  one.  Yet  even  Society  has  its  good  points.  Society  is  not 
'rotten  to  the  core,'  though  its  tastes  are  rather  low,  and  its  manners  verge 
perilously  on  vulgarity." 

TIMES. 

"  Lady  Greville  describes  the  faults  and  foibles  of  Society  with  an  impartial 
and  unsparing  pen  ;  but  she  hardly  seems  to  be  conscious  that  she  is  describ- 
ing a  body  of  men  and  women  who  have  no  notion  that  they  have  anything  on 
earth  to  do  in  life  except  to  amuse  themselves,  and  who  cannot  even  do  this 
in  a  manner  which  befits  a  being  with  a  soul  to  be  saved  and  a  brain  to  be 
used  in  the  saving  of  it." 

DAILY    NEWS    (Leader). 

"  '  The  Victoria  Library  for  Gentlewomen '  opens  with  a  volume  by  Lady 
Greville.  Lady  Greville  writes  pleasantly,  describes  vividly,  and  shows 
everywhere  that  she  understands  the  subject  she  is  writing  about.  She  is 
now  and  then  a  little  cynical,  now  and  then  a  little  pessimistic  ;  but  her  heart 
is  evidently  in  the  right  place',  and  she  would  be  glad  to  reform  Society,  no 
doubt,  but  probably  does  not  believe  that  the  reform  can  be  accomplished 
either  by  scolding  or  by  sentiment.  The  result  is  that  we  have  a  very  cor- 
rectly-drawn picture  of  what  Society  does,  with  a  quiet  suggestion  here  and 
there  of  what  Society  ought  to  do." 

GLOBE. 

"'The  Victoria  Library  for  Gentlewomen'  makes  a  good  beginning.  It 
opens  with  a  volume  on  '  The  Gentlewoman  in  Society,'  from  the  pen  of  Lady 
Greville.  The  subject  could  not  have  been  in  better  hands.  Lady  Greville 
knows  Society  thoroughly,  and  she  knows,  moreover,  how  to  describe  it  with 
vivacity.  In  the  volume  before  us  there  is  not  a  dull  page.  Lady  Greville 
has  something  to  say  that  is  either  fresh  in  itself  or  freshly  stated.  There  is 
nothing  bitter  in  these  lively  pages,  no  cynicism  for  the  sake  of  cynicism,  no 
formal  posing  as  a  moral  satirist ;  but  the  writer  has,  and  permits,  no  illusions : 
she  portrays  Society  exactly  as  it  is,  putting  into  her  work  just  that  slight 
flavour  of  acidity  which  gives  'tone,' and  is  at  the  same  time  so  pleasing  to 
the  jaded  palate." 

LONDON  :  HENRY  &  CO.,  6,  BOUVERIE  STREET,  E.C. 

AND  AT  ALL  LIBRARIES  AND  BOOKSTALLS. 


BY    DR.    KATE    MITCHELL. 


GENTLEWOMAN'S  BOOK  OF  HYGIENE. 

By  DR.  KATE  MITCHELL. 

Crown   8vo,  with   Portrait,    6s. 
PRESS      OPINIONS. 

SATURDAY    REVIEW. 

"  A  well  printed  and  prettily  bound  volume  of  the  '  Victoria  Library  for 
Gentlewomen*  .  .  .  deals  in  a  practical  spirit  with  the  principles  that  govern 
the  preservation  of  health  and  the  prevention  of  disorder  and  disease.  Miss 
Mitchell's  advice  on  the  important  subjects  of  clothing,  exercise,  diet,  and  the 
treatment  of  common  ailments  is  chiefly  addressed  to  women,  from  childhood 
to  maturity,  and  is  characterised  by  thoroughness  of  treatment  and  admirable 
good  sense.  The  chapter  on  physical  education  is  excellent." 

THE    SPEAKER. 

"Dr.  Kate  Mitchell  takes  for  her  motto  the  well-known  line  of  Martial, 
'  Life  is  not  to  live,  but  to  be  well,'  and  she  lays  down,  with  great  plainness  of 
speech  and  a  corresponding  amount  of  common-sense,  in  '  The  Gentlewoman's 
Book  of  Hygiene,'  those  general  laws  the  observance  of  which  so  intimately 
concern,  not  merely  physical,  but  mental  and  moral  health.  Everywhere 
stress  is  laid  on  the  fact  that  prevention  is  better  than  cure,  and  women  are 
warned  against  careless  habits,  which  too  often  lead  to  disease  and  suffering. 
The  ailments  peculiar  to  girlhood,  womanhood,  and  maturity  are  discussed, 
and  much  light  is  thrown,  by  the  writer's  professional  experience,  on  many 
practical  questions  concerning  bathing,  rest,  exercise,  and  recreation.  Alto- 
gether, these  pages  abound  in  wholesome  and  sound  advice,  and  the  book  will 
make  its  own  welcome  whenever  it  is  fortunate  enough  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  a  sensible  woman." 

REVIEW     OF     REVIEWS. 

"  This  book  is  the  second  volume  of  the  '  Victoria  Library  for  Gentlewomen,' 
and  should  be  read  by  every  woman  and  girl  who  has  regard  for  her  health 
and  personal  appearance.  Dr.  Kate  Mitchell  has  laid  down  in  the  plainest  and 
simplest  language  those  general  laws  on  the  observance  of  which  depends 
pur  physical,  mental,  and  moral  health.  The  book  is  brightly  and  interest- 
ingly written,  and  will  be  a  permanent  addition  to  hygienic  literature." 

BLACK    AND    WHITE. 

"Dr.  Kate  Mitchell  is  a  licentiate  of  medicine,  and  she  writes  a  most 
sensible  book,  fortified,  but  not  overborne,  by  the  best  scientific  medical 
knowledge  of  the  day.  The  book  is  a  capital  one." 

QUEEN. 

"  This  is  the  second  of  the  volumes  announced  as  the  'Victoria  Library  for 
Gentlewomen.'  It  is  written  by  a  lady  who  is  well  known  as  an  able  and 
accomplished  member  of  the  medical  profession.  Our  present  aim  is  to  call 
attention  to  the  work  as  one  from  which  wise  and  judicious  parents  may 
gather  a  host  of  useful  hints  on  all  subjects  which  concern  the  health  and 
general  welfare  of  youthful  womanhood." 

GENTLEWOMAN. 

"Such  a  manual  as  the  present  ought  to  receive  a  welcome  from  the  class  to 
whom  it  appeals.  The  professional  standing  of  the  authoress,  and  the  com- 
prehensive character  of  the  book,  dealing  with  every  stage  of  a  woman's  life 
from  childhood  to  maturity,  is  enough  to  justify  its  existence." 


LONDON  :  HENRY  &  CO.,  6,  BOUVERIE  STREET,  B.C. 


EDITED    BY    LADY    GREVILLE. 
THE 

GENTLEWOMAN'S  BOOK  OF  SPORTS  (I.). 

With  Contributions  on  Fishing,  Boating, 
Swimming,  Skating,  Cricket,  Golf,  Lawn  Tennis,  Archery,  etc. 

Crown  8vo.     With  Portrait,  6s. 

TIMES. 

"  The  '  Gentlewoman's  Book  of  Sports '  is  a  very  comprehensive  yolume, 
dealing  with  trout-fishing  and  salmon-fishing  in  two  chapters  apiece  by 
different  hands,  and  with  saithe-fishing,  bass  and  tarpon-fishing,  sailing, 
boating,  and  sculling,  swimming,  skating,  lawn  tennis,  cricket,  archery,  golf, 
and  fencing  in  single  chapters,  written  by  recognised  authorities  on  their 
respective  subjects.  The  volume  is  pleasantly  written,  and  contains  many  a 
useful  hint,  especially  on  the  very  important  topic  of  the  costume  best  adapted 
to  the  several  sports  discussed  ;  while  the  portraits  of  the  contributors,  with 
which  its  pages  are  adorned,  may  certainly  be  accepted  as  a  proof  that  the 
pursuit  of  sport  is  in  no  way  inconsistent  with  feminine  grace  and  refinement. 
The  important  subject  of  hunting,  and  horses  in  general,  is  reserved  for  a 
subsequent  volume." 

DAILY   TELEGRAPH. 

"  The  fair  contributors  who  have  enlisted  under  Lady  Greyille's  editorial 
banner  can,  one  and  all,  lay  claim  to  special  knowledge  of  their  several  sub- 
jects. They  write  with  the  air  and  confidence  of  experts  upon  a  variety  ot 
themes,  ranging  from  trout-fishing  to  fencing.  As  a  matter  of  course,  sailing, 
sculling,  swimming,  and  skating  are  all  included  in  the  list  of  pursuits  which 
a  young  lady  of  to-day  may  cultivate  with  advantage  ;  while  such  pastimes  as 
cricket  and  golf,  which  have  been  more  recently  accorded  places  within  the 
feminine  sphere,  are  lucidly  and  sensibly  treated  by  Lady  Milner  and  Miss 
A.  M.  Stewart.  The  chapters  on  fishing,  from  the  pens  of  Lady  Colin  Campbell, 
Miss  Starkey,  Mrs.  Steuart-.VIenzies,  and  'Diane  Chasseresse,'  are  particularly 
well  done.  Indeed,  the  entire  book,  which,  without  being  a  series  of  condensed 
treatises,  contains  abundant  practical  information,  should  find  a  host  of  readers 
among  English  girls  with  a  taste  for  healthy  and  enjoyable  exercise." 

FIELD. 

"It  is  impossible  to  deny  to  each  of  the  thirteen  ladies  who  have,  between 
them,  compiled  the  volume,  a  perfect  right  to  be  considered  an  authority  on 
the  subject  about  which  she  writes.  Lady  Colin  Campbell,  who  has  already 
earned  her  spurs  as  a  writer,  leads  the  way  with  a  chapter  on  trout-fishing. 
Miss  Starkey  follows  on  the  same  subject,  and  reveals  herself  an  ardent  angler. 
Salmon-angling  receives  no  less  enthusiastic  treatment  from  the  hands  of  Mrs. 
Steuart-Menzies  and  '  Diane  Chasseresse.'  Yet  another  chapter  on  angling 
commands  attention,  for  it  is  written  by  Mrs.  George  T.  Stagg,  the  lady  who 
can  each  night  lay  her  head  upon  her  pillow  with  the  consoling  thought — to  an 
angler— that  she  has  caught  the  largest  fish  ever  taken  by  rod  and  line,  this 
being  the  250  Ib.  tarpon  taken  last  year.  Mrs.  Stagg's  chapter  naturally  deals 
with  tarpon-fishing.  Sailing  could  not  be  in  more  appropriate  hands  than 
those  of  Mrs.  G.  A.  Schenley,  who  last  year  sailed  her  s-rater,  the 
Windfall,  with  such  success  in  the  Solent ;  and  a  very  breezy  chapter  is 
contributed.  In  writing  upon  swimming  Mrs.  Samuda  reveals  considerable 
experience  of  her  subject.  Skating  by  Miss  Laura  Cannan  and  lawn  tennis 
by  Mrs.  Hillyard  are  succeeded  by  cricket  by  Lady  Milner,  who  breaks  new 
ground.  It  is  needless  to  state  that  an  accomplished  archeress  like  Mrs. 
Bowley  has  much  to  say:  and  Miss  Alice  M.  Stewart  gives  many  judicious 
hints  to  beginners  at  golf.  The  last  chapter,  on  fencing,  brings  Lady  Colin 
Campbell  on  the  scene  once  more,  and  the  volume  is  ended  in  scholarly 
fashion."  

LONDON:    HENRY  &  CO.,  6,   BOUVERIE  STREET,   E.G. 
And  at  all  Libraries  and  Booksellers', 


BY    MRS.    TALBOT    COKE. 

THE 

Gentlewoman   at   Ibome* 

CROWN    8vo,    WITH    PORTRAIT,    6/-. 

PRESS    OPINIONS. 
QUEEN. 

"The  'Gentlewoman  at  Home  '  is  written  in  Mrs.  Talbot  Coke's  most  pic- 
turesque style ;  it  is  at  once  pleasantly  discursive,  and  full  of  excellent 
suggestions,  and  the  general  reader  will  find  quite  as  much  to  attract  him  in  it 
as  the  matron  or  maid  with  ulterior  motives  on  the  '  doing  up'  of  her  home." 

GENTLEWOMAN. 


"The  'Gentlewoman  at  Home,' one  of  Messrs.  Henry  &Co.'s  famous  series, 
'  The  Victoria  Library  for  Gentlewomen.'  .  .  .  the  incomparable  experience  of 


JOHN    STRANGE   WINTER,    IN    WINTER'S   WEEKLY. 

"  I  am  now  reading  with  much  delight  Mrs.  Talbot  Coke's  volume  of  the 
'  Victoria  Library  for  Gentlewomen.'  It  is  called  '  The  Gentlewoman  at  Home.' 
It  is  a  delightful  book  ;  the  outcome  of  a  brilliant  woman's  very  varied  ex- 
periences, full  of  brightness  and  tenderness,  and  more  interesting  than  half  the 
novels  that  are  published  to-day.  Mrs.  Talbot  Coke  has  seen  so  much,  done  so 
much,  she  is  such  an  indefatigable  worker,  and  yet  so  full  of  common  sense, 
that  the  '  Gentlewoman  at  Home '  is  like  a  mosaic  of  varied  charms." 


SALA'S   JOURNAL 


"A  book  that  will  be  sure  of  a  warm  welcome  is  the  'Gentlewoman  at  Home,' 


m«a_y  gdtiici  uuiii  11.  itvL  unly  \vm  iu  uc  a  UUUK  lu  pijiuL  iinu  itfau  me  way  to  uie 
better  understanding  of  decoration  in  our  houses,  but  it  will  be  a  pleasant 
volume  to  take  up  to  while  away  a  weary  hour,  and  we  confidently  predict  that, 
unless  under  stress  of  circumstances,  it  will  not  be  laid  down  until  the  final 
chapter  has  been  read." 

LONDON :  HENRY  &  CO.,  6,  BOUVERIE  STREET,  E.G. 


IN  CAMBRIDGE  COURTS. 

By    R.    C.    LEHMANN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "HARRY  FLUDYER  AT  CAMBRIDGE." 

Crown  8uo,  240  pp.     3s.  6d.     Illustrated. 

ALSO  A  LIMITED    LARGE-PAPER    EDITION,  Crown  4tO,  10s.  6<L  net 

PRESS      OPINIONS. 
GLOBE. 


auu  appieuuiLe  genuine  wn  unu  iiumuui  .  ivii.  j-»cumaiiu  IHM-II^  wmi  <t 
amusing  essays  which  discourse  of  Cambridge  generally,  of  fathers,  moth 
sisters,  Ded-makers,  gyps,  and  undergraduates.  Then  comes  a  series  of 


sisters,  bed-makers,  gyps,  and  undergraduates,  l  nen  comes  a  series  or  Cam- 
bridge Dialogues  in  prose,  graphically  illustrative  of  undergraduate  habits 
and  character,  and  full  of  simple  and  light-hearted  fun.  ...  It  is  difficult  to 
convey  any  very  clear  idea  of  the  varied  contents  of  this  welcome  volume." 

PUNCH. 

"  The  Baron  recognises  with  pleasure  the  actuality  of  the  dramatic  scenes 
'In  Cambridge  Courts  '  by  Mr.  Lehmann.  The  dialogues  are  about  the  best 
of  the  many  best  things  in  the  book." 


SPEAKER. 


'through  the  mill'  himself,  and  his  studies,  mostly 
not  wanting  in  freshness,  vigour,  and  fun." 


NEW  WORK  BY  R.  C.  LEHMANN. 

THEBILLSBURY  ELECTION, 

and  other  Papers,  from  "Punch." 

By  the  Author  of  "  In  Cambridge  Courts,"  "  Harry  Fludyer  at 

Cambridge,"  etc.  [Ready 

Crown  8v0,  with  28' Illustrations  by  HAL  HURST,  5*. 


LONDON:   HENRY  &  CO.,  6,  BOUVERIE  STREET,  B.C. 


NOW    READY.      FIFTH    EDITION. 

THE    BACHELORS'    CLUB. 

By   I.   ZANGWILL. 

Crown  8vo.    348  pp.    35.  6d. 

With  ILLUSTRATIONS  by  GEORGE  HTTTCHINSON. 

DAILY  CHRONICLE  :  "With  all  his  fun  he  is  not  a  '  funny  man,'  he  is  a  literary 

humorist — in  all  the  seriousness  of  claiming  a  place  in  literature." 
FUN  :  "  On  Fame's  drum  it  will  beat  rub-a-dub-dub." 
LADY  :  "  The  author  is  one  entirely  born  to  the  motley.     His  quips  are  quaint, 

his  satire  delightfully  exhilarating." 
LITERARY  WORLD:  "Entitles  Mr.  Zangwill  to  rank  as  a  genuine  humorist. 

The  book  is  full  of  good  things." 
MORNING  POST  :  "The  author  has  a  manner  of  touching  upon  the  foibles  of 

the  day,  full  of  playful  malice,  but  quite  devoid  of  bitterness,  which  is 

one  of  the  best  gifts  of  the  humorist. 

OBSERVER  :  "  The  author  has  a  delightful  vein  of  humour." 
SATURDAY  REVIEW:  "We  like  the  stories  of  '  Hamlet  up  to  Date  '  and  'The 

Fall  of  Israfel'  best,  but  all  are  amusing,  and  all  coruscate  with  puns." 
SPEAKER  :  "  It  is  impossible  to  read  this  book  without  being  delighted  with 

it.     It  is  full  of  good  things." 


JUST    READY. 

BY      THE      SAME      AUTHOR. 

THE  BIG  BOW  MYSTERY, 

By  the  Author  of  "THE  BACHELORS'  CLUB,"  etc. 
Crown  8vo.     188  pp.     is. 

"  A  very  clever  tale."  —  Scotsman. 


OB 


in  <Dtw  3Ut. 
BY    BMILIO    MONTANARO. 

Translated  from  the  Original  Spanish  by  J.  T.   GREIN,  with 
a  Prefatory  Note  by  JOHN  GRAY. 

ON  HAND-MADE  PAPER.    WITH  SILK  BINDING,   Is.  NET. 


LONDON :    HENRY  &  CO.,  6,   BOUVERIE  STREET,  E.G. 


At  all  Libraries  and  Booksellers'. 

GEORGE  MOORE'S  NEW  NOVEL. 


VAIN    FORTUNE. 

By  the  .Author  of   "  A   MUMMER'S   WIFE,"    "  A   MODERN 
LOVER,"   etc. 

In    crown    Sv0,    unth    Eleven    Illustrations    by 

MAURICE    GREIFFENHAGEN. 


BY  LADY  CONSTANCE  HOWARD. 

EVERYBODY'S  DINNER  BOOK, 

from  Is.  to  10s. 

By  LADY  CONSTANCE  HOWARD. 


Crown  St'O,  3^.  &/. 


TWO-SHILLING    NOVELS. 


A    FREAK    OF     FATE. 

By  E.  F.  SPENCE. 

THE     DYNAMITARDS. 

By  REGINALD  TAYLER. 


In  paper  boards,  2s. 
LONDON  :  HENRY  &  CO.,  6,  BOUVERIE  STREET,  E.C. 


BY 

BARRY      PAIN. 

(VOL.  vi.—  abe  TJdbftefrfars  OLtbrarg  of  Wiit  anfc  Ibumour.) 

WITH  PORTRAIT.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  2s.  6d. 

SECOND    EDITION. 


PRESS     OPINIONS. 

"The  pleasant  and  even  remarkable  book  which  Mr.  Barry  Pain  has  con- 
tributed to  the  Whitefriars  Library.  The  best  thing  in  the  book,  to  our  mind, 
is  '  The  Celestial  Grocery,'  a  quaint  and  thoroughly  original  blending  of 
effervescent  humour  with  grim  pathos."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  If  you  want  a  really  refreshing  book,  a  book  whose  piquant  savour  and 
quaint  originality  of  style  are  good  for  jaded  brains,  buy  and  read  In  a 
Canadian  Canoe.  .  .  .  There  is  in  these  stories  a  curious  mixture  of  humour, 
insight  and  pathos,  with  here  and  there  a  dash  of  grimness  and  a  sprinkling  of 
that  charming  irrelevancy  which  is  of  the  essence  of  true  humour.  As  for 
'The  Celestial  Grocery,'  I  can  only  say  that  it  is  in  its  way  a  masterpiece."  — 
Punch. 

"  In  Mr.  Barry  Pain  we  have  a  new  humorist,  not  of  the  rollicking  sort  who 
splits  one's  tympanum  by  coarse  guffaws,  but  quiet,  dry,  quaint,  and  refined, 
making  one  think  even  while  one  laughs,  and  taking  one  out  of  the  world  of 
fact  into  the  nebulous  region  of  imagination  and  speculation.  He  has  struck  a 
new  vein  which,  if  we  err  not  in  judgment,  is  rich  in  the  pure  metal  of  thought. 
There  is  no  vulgarity  in  his  humour  ;  his  fancy  is  bold  and  strong,  and  often 
exquisitely  graceful  in  its  creations.  .  .  .  '  The  Celestial  Grocery,  a  Fantasia,' 
is  a  piece  of  fantastic  imagining  which  should  live  in  literature."  —  Evening 
News  and  Post. 

"  Indeed,  the  absolute  and  incessant  incongruity  of  the  writing  is  a  new 
thing,  though  perhaps  the  newness  is  still  more  in  the  excellent  stuff  of  the 
ingredients.  Lots  of  people  can  do  the  topsy-turvy,  but  few  have  such  a  back- 
ground, for  it  includes  a  fine  gift  of  style,  and  a  real  knowledge  of  life."  —  Star. 

"Genuine  fun  which  has  a  knark  of  shading  off  into  equally  genuine  pathos. 
Mr.  Pain  is  no  mere  droll.  With  him  the  source  of  laughter  is  also  the  source 
of  tears.  There  is  much  in  this  book  of  his  which  is  truly  pathetic."  —  Globe. 

11  Indeed,  we  are  much  mistaken  if  Mr.  Barry  Pain's  In  a  Canadian  Canoe 
does  not  create  a.  furore.  Certainly  it  is  one  of  the  wittiest  books  of  the  year." 
—  Illustrated  London  News. 


NEW  WORK  BY  BARRY  PAIN. 

STORIES  *   INTERLUDES. 

By  the  Author  of  "  In  a  Canadian  Canoe,"  etc. 


[Ready 


Crown  %vo,  with  Frontispiece,  y.  6d. ' 


LONDON :  HENRY  &  CO.,  6,  BOUVERIE  STREET,  E.G. 


University  of  California 
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40S  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 
,   ?       Return  this  material  to  the  library 
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